


what's real among them

by theafterimages



Series: frat au [11]
Category: GOT7, K-pop
Genre: M/M, also approximately 17k more words than originally planned, contains one fade to black drunk hookup later in the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 22:10:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4641966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theafterimages/pseuds/theafterimages
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson settles into life at Cartwright easily, thanks to his roommate Mark and also to frequent hookups with Zitao. Zitao, meanwhile, has a hard time adjusting to the new school year and the changes that have come with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what's real among them

**Author's Note:**

> While this is part of one of my established AUs, I deliberately wrote it to be able to stand on its own since it's introducing a new group of characters. No one should have to read the rest of the AU to be able to follow this, so if you are a new reader and there is anything in the fic that needs to be clarified further, please let me know and I will amend it!   
> This is not a Greek AU, though it does use Greek’s fraternity & sorority names. All place names are homages to characters on the show.  
> Thank you to A, E, J and S for betaing, to K for making this happen, and to everyone who provided encouragement and patience as this project evolved far beyond what I initially expected it to be! I need to stop underestimating Frat AU, clearly.  
> This is set during August-September 2012.

Most of the pledge 'newlyweds' for this year’s Vegas Mistakes mixer with Zeta Beta Zeta are varying levels of awkward as Zitao photographs them, but the last pair is an exception. Jackson and Youngji pose easily, champagne-bottle-taped hands raised over their heads, their mouths open as if they're yelling victoriously.

“Congratulations,” Zitao tells them solemnly as he puts his phone away, and Youngji’s mouth gets even wider as she laughs. “You make a beautiful couple.”

“Thank you,” Jackson says, matching Zitao’s tone. “Too bad _someone_ thinks I’m too short to be a good husband—”

Youngji rounds on him, her eyes widening. “I never said that!”

“Yes you did, and you know what—”

“I’m getting a divorce,” Youngji announces. “And a drink!”

“Good, I wanted one anyway!”

“Fine!”

As Youngji leads the way through the crowd, Jackson surprises Zitao by pulling him along in their wake, laughing when Zitao yelps. Zitao has all the pictures Hakyeon asked for and no other plans for what to do next, and Jackson’s fingers are warm around his wrist, so he decides to just go with it.

“Did you guys know each other before you came to Cartwright?” Zitao asks once they get their drinks and make their way to a part of the house far enough from the pounding speakers to allow for actual conversation.

“No, we have a few classes together,” Jackson explains.

“But sometimes it feels like I’ve known him forever,” Youngji adds with a laugh.

“Hey, if you don’t want to be married to me—”

“I just meant you’re easy to get to know!”

“You’re like that with everyone,” Zitao adds, thinking back to when he’d met Jackson at the start of Rush Week. Jackson had greeted most of the brothers by name, trading high-fives or hugs with easy familiarity. Zitao had assumed that he was one of those guys who was pledging because he already had friends in the house, only to find out that Jackson had met them all during a campus visit last spring. 

Jackson shrugs. “I like people.”

“And he never stops talking,” Youngji adds, and when Jackson prods her with their champagne bottle she nudges him back with it. “Does Mark ever get to say anything around you?”

“Mark talks a lot, okay!” 

Zitao doesn’t have to ask who they’re talking about. He’s pretty sure that everyone in Kappa Tau knows all about Jackson’s roommate, Mark Tuan. Jackson has yet to bring him by the house, but he talks about him enough to make up for it. “You still haven’t talked him into de-pledging Omega Chi?”

Jackson rolls his eyes and takes a long drink. Youngji must follow suit, since it’s the rule of the mixer, but Zitao only has eyes for how Jackson’s throat works as he swallows; how red his full lips are as he lowers the plastic cup again. “Is Omega Chi even a real house?” 

“We’re still not sure,” Zitao confides.

“See!” Jackson says triumphantly to Youngji, like they’ve discussed this before, and Youngji shakes her head. “I keep telling him he has to come by here, but he always says he has pledging stuff to do.”

“I want to meet him.”

“You should! He’s the best.” Jackson’s eyes light up and he leans in closer to Zitao. “You should come by our room tomorrow. We can hang out. You wanted to see my trophies and stuff anyway, right?”

Zitao had mentioned that first night they’d met; it had just been an offhand remark, nothing he’d expected Jackson to remember. The fact that Jackson did warms him the whole way through. That and the way Jackson’s waiting for his answer, his dark eyes wide and hopeful. “What time?” he asks, and Jackson grins.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Youngji waves as Zitao walks away—then, without so much as letting her smile slip, backhands Jackson’s arm.

“What was that for?” Jackson demands.

“Flirting with other people while you’re taped to your wife!” She tsks. “Disrespectful.”

“We weren’t flirting!”

Youngji gives him a disbelieving look. “You were too! The touching? You inviting him over? The way he was looking at you?”

“What way?!” Jackson leans up on tiptoe, looking wildly through the crowd until he sees where Zitao is now talking to a few of the other Kappa Tau members, one tan, well-muscled arm around Baekhyun’s shoulders. Jackson’s eyes stray to the tight fit of Zitao’s dark jeans, the tan skin showing beneath the deliberate rips in the thighs; to where the neckline of his shirt gapes open, drawing attention to his collarbone and long neck and… His gaze momentarily darts back to Zitao, and he wets his lips when he sees that Zitao’s looking right back at him. There’s a small, smug smile on his face, like he knows exactly what Jackson is thinking about.

Jackson swallows. Lots of the guys in Kappa Tau are hot, sure, but Zitao’s pretty much Jackson’s ideal type of guy, like how Gayeon is his ideal type of girl—

“He was definitely interested,” Youngji says impatiently. “And so are you! Just look at Gayeon.”

That gets Jackson’s attention; he barely catches himself before he scans the crowd for her next, quickly refocusing on Youngji instead. “What about her?” he asks warily. He knows he’s easy to read, but he’s pretty sure Youngji naming her at that exact moment is still weird.

Youngji shakes her head. “Tan, athletic—you have a type.”

“I don’t have a type! I like lots of different people!”

“Yeah, I guess Tao’s different. You didn’t scream when you saw _him_ —”

“That was _one time_!” Jackson says indignantly. “We promised we’d never talk about it again!”

“I didn’t promise, that was just you,” Youngji reminds him.

Jackson scowls. “I need another drink,” he decides, and drags her back toward the ready array of shots, Youngji laughing the whole way.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next morning Jackson wakes up much earlier than intended, groaning when he checks the time on his phone. Mark’s rushing around the room—Jackson dimly remembers him saying something about there being an Omega Chi event this morning—in too much of a hurry to be quiet, and when he slams his dresser drawer shut it jolts Jackson further into awareness.

Jackson grumbles into his pillow. Seriously, what frat schedules anything for Saturday mornings? Omega Chi can’t be real.

Giving up on sleep for now, Jackson gropes for his phone and pulls up Youngji’s number with some difficulty. _howre u_ he texts.

He doesn’t have to wait long for a response: _she says shes never drinking w u again lol its seulgi btw_. A few more seconds later, his phone vibrates again. _& u owe her breakfast_.

Jackson has a dim memory of giving Youngji a piggyback ride to her dorm last night and making a promise to bring her food. The last thing he wants to do right now is get out of bed, but it’s for Youngji, so he texts back _what does she want_ and sits up with another groan. At least he’s not hungover, mostly just tired. Vegas Mixer rules decreed that the newlyweds had to match each other drink for drink, so Jackson had left how much drinking they did entirely up to Youngji.

“You’re alive?” Mark asks in surprise, popping up from where he’s digging through the mini fridge. Whatever he sees in Jackson’s resulting expression makes him laugh, but at least he tosses him a bottle of water, too. Jackson drinks half of it in one go, then forces himself to get out of bed, grabbing the nearest snapback and shoving it over his sleep-wrecked hair. He’s already trying to figure out how long his food run will take and when he can get back to the dorm and, more to the point, to his own bed. 

A sudden thought occurs to him. “Hey, you should come back here after your pretend frat thing. Tao’s coming over—he’s one of the guys from my house—”

Mark actually pauses long enough to give him an unimpressed look. “I’m not pledging Kappa Tau.”

“I didn’t say you had to!” Jackson says innocently, like it’s not his current goal in life. Mark’s going with him to open basement night later, Jackson had gotten him to promise that already, but him getting to know members outside of house activities won’t hurt. “I’m just saying. Tao seems really cool. He does wushu, and he’s into photography and stuff—”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll come back.” Mark grabs his backpack, then takes one last, quick look around the room.

“Phone,” Jackson says helpfully.

“Shit, right.” He snatches it off his desk and bolts for the door.

“Come back!”

“I will!” Mark calls over his shoulder, the door slamming shut behind him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Zitao checks Instagram, he sees that a few people have updated—Joonmyun’s posted a picture of himself wearing cowboy boots, because Zitao’s life is a trial ( _MOVE BACK HOME RN_ Zitao comments immediately, and Joonmyun replies with a string of laughing emojis), Kris posted a picture of himself in a shirt he just received from Jessica (Zitao compliments him, and is disappointed but unsurprised when Kris never answers), and Jackson’s uploaded the picture of him and Youngji from last night and captioned it _me + the wife_.

_u cant have a wife im ur husband!!!!_ is the first comment on it. Zitao grins as he keeps skimming Jackson’s account and finds more pictures of him with the kid who wrote it, Bambam. Almost all of them feature Bambam either with a possessive hold on Jackson or giving him a starry-eyed look or generally looking like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than by Jackson’s side.

Once Zitao likes the mixer picture, he hurries up to his room, greeting a few of the other brothers on his way. He unlocks the door and lets himself in as quietly as he can, but can’t bite back his laugh as he tiptoes to Wonshik’s bed. 

He crouches down by the bed, giving Wonshik's bare shoulder a light shake. “Wonshik,” he coaxes. “You asked me to wake you up, remember?”

Wonshik’s eyes open, then close again, and he groans. “Too early.”

“It’s noon,” Zitao says, laughing, and grabs Wonshik’s pillow from him before he can cover his head with it. “Hey, come on. I brought breakfast.” Wonshik stills, so Zitao seizes the opportunity and opens the paper bag, waving it under Wonshik’s nose so he can get a whiff of the fried smells from the food inside.

“You’re the best,” Wonshik mumbles as he sits up, grabbing the food. 

Zitao laughs and tousles his roommate's messy, bleached hair. Wonshik taken care of, he goes over to the mirror, making sure his own hair is still perfect. He won't be meeting Jackson for a few more hours, but he has a standard to maintain, after all.

“You look good,” Wonshik says around a yawn. He sounds as tired as ever, but Zitao can feel his eyes on him. “Big plans?”

“Just hanging out,” Zitao says, keeping his tone vague. Luckily Wonshik is either too tired or too distracted by his meal to keep asking. Wonshik’s been one of his closest friends at Cartwright ever since they’d rushed Kappa Tau together last year, but Zitao’s never talked to him about his hookups and doesn’t intend to start now. 

On his way out Zitao runs into Baekhyun, who gives him an appreciative up and down look. “Who are you trying to impress?”

“I don’t have to _try_ ,” Zitao says disdainfully, but he’s grateful for the affirmation all the same.

Baekhyun grins. “I’m just saying, if it’s me I’m free later—”

Zitao scoffs. He loves Baekhyun, and the sex last year was amazing, but this is a new year for both of them. They’d already decided it’s time to move on. “You wish.”

“So do you,” Baekhyun teases, and swats Zitao’s ass before he can walk away, laughing at the mock-indignant look Zitao gives him in return. “Good luck, and don’t forget to take condoms!”

“That was _one time_!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You made it to the Youth Olympic Games?” The medal Zitao’s trying on falls from his hand, bouncing against his chest before resting against it. Mouth dry, Jackson looks away quickly. He’s been determined not to stare at how the tank top Zitao’s wearing clings to his skin, revealing every ab muscle he’s ever had. He’s failing, sure, but he’s still trying. “And you came _here_? We don’t even have a fencing team, just a club.”

“It’s not like anyone here does wushu, either,” Jackson returns without thinking. His decision to put fencing on the back burner is still a sore spot in his family. His dad hasn’t stopped making comments about how Jackson can always transfer to other schools next year, even though Jackson’s made it as clear as he can that that’s not going to happen. 

Zitao frowns. “I don’t compete anymore. I had a waist injury and didn’t take enough time to recover, so it got the point that...”

Jackson’s irritation immediately fades, and he squeezes Zitao’s shoulder. “Shit, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Zitao assures him. “I was ready for something new. Cartwright has a really good photography program, and there’s KT. I’d rather be here than still competing.”

“Me, too,” Jackson says with a nod. “There’s the fencing club, and I can drive out to Baltimore for open bouts, but I’ve been training since I was a kid, you know? I needed a break.”

“Sometimes it’s just time.”

“Yeah.” Jackson lets his hand slide down the red-and-white ribbon around Zitao’s neck until he reaches the medal, smiling a little as he taps it once. It’s nice to have someone to talk to who understands. “I had a good run, though.”

Zitao’s gaze lowers to take in his hand, then lifts again and meets Jackson’s eyes. The intent look has the low-grade anticipation that’s been humming through his system ever since Zitao showed up at his door going into overdrive. “How good?” 

Jackson can’t resist: “Want to see what I can do with a saber?” 

Zitao bursts out laughing and Jackson grins, curling his hand around the medal’s ribbon and shifting closer. Zitao bends down, one hand coming up to rest against the back of Jackson’s head as their lips meet halfway.

The first kiss is testing, Zitao’s mouth gentle against his. Their lips brush a few times before Zitao coaxes his mouth open, Jackson’s fingers tightening on the ribbon. 

“Really glad I’m at Cartwright,” Jackson manages to say the next time they break for air, and Zitao grins quickly just before Jackson kisses him again, his hands dropping to frame Zitao’s hips and pull him in close, all hesitation on both sides gone.

It's good, great; amazing, even. But Jackson soon wants more. Zitao makes the first move, shedding his tank top. Jackson quickly follows suit, shrugging off his own t-shirt and jersey, and Zitao’s smile is triumphant as Jackson backs him toward his bed.

By the time Jackson’s thoughts catch up with him they’re both naked, discarding their remaining clothes as quickly as they can before reaching for each other again. Jackson sits down on the middle of the bed and pulls Zitao with him until he’s straddling Jackson’s waist, both of them claiming one insistent kiss after another. 

“What are you doing?” Zitao blurts out as Jackson goes to lift the medal Zitao’s still wearing over his head.

“You want us getting hit in the face with it?” Jackson points out with a quick laugh, nipping at Zitao’s pouting lower lip. 

“Oh, right.” Zitao’s face falls. “It would’ve been hot, though.”

Jackson laughs unsteadily. He’d already known Zitao was hot, obviously, but he hadn’t been expecting his personality to be so cute, too. “Okay, we can wait,” he says. Before Zitao can ask what he means Jackson curls one hand around the ribbon the medal’s strung through and tugs him in for a filthy, open-mouthed kiss that ends with Zitao moaning into his mouth as Jackson eagerly wraps his free hand around Zitao's cock. 

As compromises go, it must be good enough because Zitao doesn’t complain when Jackson gets around to taking the medal off and placing it carefully on the nightstand. He’s set to pick back up where he’d left off, but Zitao has other ideas.

“Hold on,” Zitao tells him breathlessly. He moves back, kissing and nipping his way down Jackson’s body. Jackson watches in wonder as Zitao settles himself between Jackson’s spread thighs, pressing extra kisses to his abdomen before he looks up at Jackson with heavy-lidded eyes and gives him a slow smile.

“Jesus, you could do porn,” Jackson blurts out, and feels his cock twitch as Zitao strokes his fingertips along the inside of Jackson’s thighs.

“Just wait,” Zitao says smugly, returning to the matter at hand. He licks a broad stripe up the underside of Jackson’s cock, sucking lightly at each of his balls in turn before pressing open-mouthed kisses along his shaft. Then, nuzzling at the tip, he looks up at Jackson again. “Okay so far?”

Jackson just whimpers.

Zitao grins, his tongue swiping over his lips before he bends his head again and seals his mouth over Jackson’s cock, taking more into the wet heat of his mouth with each bob of his head, one hand steadily stroking the rest. 

What restraint Jackson has left is all going toward keeping his hips still, so it’s not until he hears Zitao whimper that his eyes flutter open and he realizes he’s gripping Zitao’s hair. Too tight, probably, he realizes. He lets go, only for Zitao to look up at him and reach for his hand, putting it right back on his head and holding on until Jackson obediently threads his fingers through his dark hair again. Zitao hums contentedly, his eyes closing again as he reapplies himself to his task. Jackson groans, digging his heels into the mattress, the satisfaction radiating from Zitao making everything that much hotter.

Zitao pulls off after a few minutes, smiling up at him as he rests his chin on one arm, still stroking Jackson’s cock with his other hand. “What do you like?” Zitao asks him, sounding _casual_ about it.

“What?”

“Top or bottom,” Zitao says patiently, like Jackson’s supposed to have any brain power left over to figure out what he means.

Jackson shakes his head, forcing himself to think through the question. “Either—anything’s fine—”

“Me, too,” Zitao agrees, then rubs the head of Jackson’s cock over his lips before sealing his mouth over it again. Jackson realizes he can’t feel Zitao’s other hand anymore and dimly registers the sound of skin on skin seconds before he lifts his head and sees Zitao is stroking himself, too, in rhythm with Jackson. The sight, on top of everything else, has Jackson shaking all over, body locking as he’s all but thrown to the edge. 

Jackson can barely think, much less string coherent sentences together, but he does his best. “There’s—lube and, if you—” 

Zitao pulls off again, and Jackson groans and throws his head back against the pillow. He’d been so close, but he can already feel the orgasm receding. “Later,” Zitao tells him. He crawls back up the bed until he’s leaning over Jackson, eyes darker than ever, and claims another kiss. Jackson responds as best he can—wants Zitao to have anything, everything—until he breaks away with a stunned exclamation as one of Zitao’s hands snakes down between their bodies, grips them both in one hot hand and tugs. Jackson thrusts up into his grip, shuddering all over at the feeling of Zitao’s cock pulsing against his.

“ _Oh my god_ —”

“Good?” Zitao asks, though his voice breaks on the word, his hand speeding up. In lieu of answering Jackson tugs him down to kiss him until he can’t maintain the effort anymore, too far gone to focus on anything but Zitao against him and above him and around him and—

“Tao, fuck, _Tao_ , I’m—” Jackson’s voice trails off into a loud, wordless groan as he comes, shaking beneath Zitao as he keeps jerking them both off. Zitao presses his mouth against Jackson’s neck, whimpering as he follows him over the edge.

In some dim corner of his blissed-out mind, Jackson’s not surprised to find out that Zitao’s into cuddling after sex, too.

“We should do this again,” Zitao mumbles against Jackson’s collarbone, words slurred but still recognizable. Even though he’s so much taller than Jackson he’s still curled up small enough to be the little spoon. Jackson usually claims that spot, but this is fine, too. If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s taking care of people.

Jackson hums, fingers stroking through Zitao’s sweat-dampened hair. “Like right now,” he agrees, and feels Zitao shake with laughter against him. “Like _every day_.” He runs his free hand down Zitao’s spine, still barely able to believe any of this happened. He forces himself to open his eyes just in time to see Zitao smile at him. Then Zitao leans up and kisses him again and again, lazy and sweet, making a low, satisfied noise as Jackson’s hands slide down his back. Making out has always been something Jackson’s into, during hookups as well as with anyone he’s ever dated; he can’t believe that they have that in common, too.

Jackson’s so distracted by the kiss, and by Zitao in general, that he doesn’t notice anything else until Mark’s voice—speaking in halting Mandarin before cutting off completely—is enough to snap them out of it, looking over as one to meet his stunned stare.

“You’re back already?” Jackson blurts out. It’s not until Zitao offers a greeting in Mandarin that Jackson realizes he’d spoken in it, too.

Mark blinks at them. “No, Mom,” he says into his phone as he backs out of the room, “I don’t think they can talk right now.”

Jackson stares after him, feeling absurdly guilty. God, he’s _That Roommate_. He hadn’t even put a sock on the door! Not that Zitao had left him any time to think about socks. Or anything, for that matter. But Mark walking in on Jackson with someone else a month into the semester—it’s against the Roommate Code. The Bro Code. All the Codes.

Zitao looks from Jackson to the now-closed door and back again. “Oh,” he says. Jackson’s not sure he likes his tone. Or the speculation in his eyes. “He’s cute.”

Mark’s the cutest person Jackson’s ever met, but he knows Zitao doesn’t mean it innocently. “That’s Mark. My roommate. He’s pledging Omega Chi.”

“Yeah, I remember.” Zitao considers it, his eyes bright with mischief when they meet Jackson’s again. “If you want him to join us next time—”

Jackson’s laugh is more nervous than he intended it to be, and Zitao winces at the volume. “What’s _wrong_ with you—” 

Zitao laughs, too, and drags him down for another kiss; one Jackson melts into easily, even though he can’t quite shake the thought of the look on Mark’s face.

 

 

 

 

 

 

As much fun as it is to tease Jackson, Mark’s interruption pretty much killed the mood for both of them, so after a few more kisses Zitao knows it’s time to leave. Jackson grumbles as Zitao evades his grasping hands and forces himself to get out of bed, almost tripping over his own jeans. He sits back down on the edge of the mattress as he gets dressed, a process slightly delayed as Jackson promptly plasters himself to his back, his thick arms warm and reassuring around Zitao’s waist. 

Zitao sighs quietly, thinking of what might have been. Not that he should’ve been surprised, given how often Jackson has always mentioned Mark, but his reaction to Mark’s unexpected arrival had made it obvious—whether Jackson’s realized his own feelings or not, no one who’s _just friends_ with the person who walked in on them in bed with someone else acts as guilty and worried as Jackson had.

“You don’t have to go yet,” Jackson tells him, pressing his lips to the side of Zitao’s neck.

“You need to talk to Mark, right?” he points out.

“Well, yeah, but…” Now it’s Jackson’s turn to sigh, and he drops his forehead against Zitao’s shoulder. 

Zitao covers his hands with one of his own. “He probably won’t be too scarred for life.”

“Yeah…” 

He squeezes Jackson’s hands before letting go, smiling to himself. He’s cute, Zitao thinks again. It’s really too bad that there shouldn’t be any more between them than this.

Then Jackson looks up at him, his wide eyes reminding Zitao of a hopeful puppy. “I’ll see you at KT tonight, right?”

Zitao should say no. He _knows_ he should say no. He had made himself a promise over the summer: no more getting attached to unavailable guys. Bad enough he spent his first year at Cartwright hung up on Kris. He doesn’t want to go through that again. 

But then again, he slept with Baekhyun for the better part of last year and never wanted too much from him. Zitao knew before they started hooking up that Baekhyun wasn’t interested in committing to anyone, so he never even thought about asking for more and their friendship stayed intact. There’s no reason he and Jackson won’t be fine, too. And, well, earlier was amazing. He can still feel the press of Jackson’s lips against his, can so clearly picture the wonder in his eyes, and his skin’s all but humming from the memory of Jackson’s touch. The little they were able to do hasn’t satisfied Zitao’s curiosity at all; it’s just made him want more. 

“Yeah, I’ll look for you,” Zitao tells him at last. Jackson grins, giving him a quick squeeze, and Zitao turns enough in his arms to kiss him, threading a hand through Jackson’s tangled hair. 

Zitao does end up kissing him for longer than he’d planned, but he snaps back to his senses when he feels one of Jackson’s hands stray toward the fastenings of his jeans. Zitao breaks free with a laugh, swatting Jackson’s hand away. “Nice try,” he says, slipping out of Jackson’s hold and taking a few quick steps away from the bed before he can give in to temptation and stay. “Tell Mark I said hi.”

Jackson’s pout vanishes. “What for?” he asks suspiciously. 

Zitao’s still laughing as he lets himself out of the room.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Zitao hasn’t been in the Kappa Tau common room long before Wonshik sprawls next to him, draping his arm over the top of the couch. 

Zitao automatically leans in against his side, looking up from Angry Birds to give Wonshik a smile. “Shower?” he asks, skimming his fingers over Wonshik's damp hair.

“I was working out,” Wonshik explains.

Had he been anyone else, Zitao might have been tempted to say something like, Yeah, me, too. "Cool," he says instead. "So you’re awake now?"

"I guess," Wonshik says with mock reluctance. Zitao laughs and rests his head against Wonshik's shoulder, starting a new game on his phone as Jaehwan pulls Wonshik into his conversation with Jongdae.

A few minutes pass before Wonshik nudges Zitao to get his attention again. “Hey, Taemin and I are having dinner with some people at Wade’s, if you want to come."

Zitao looks up from his phone. “Did you ask Jackson?”

“No," Wonshik says, his brow furrowing. "Uh, Taemin’s bringing Jongin, and Chanyeol's coming, and Byunghun, and I think Moonkyu. And I asked Hongbin, too. If you don’t—”

“No, I can go, it’ll be fun,” Zitao says quickly.

"Okay, cool," Wonshik says, though his expression doesn't quite clear.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mark seems totally normal when he comes back to the room a while later (after texting Jackson ahead of time to make sure the coast was clear), which is a huge relief. Ruining his relationship with his roommate so fast would have sucked, especially since Mark’s been so great to live with so far. Jackson’s already been thinking that he wants to room with Mark again next year if there’s not enough space for him in the Kappa Tau house.

“Sorry about earlier,” Jackson tells him anyway, just to make sure. “It’s not like I was planning on—he came over to see my trophies.”

Mark’s lips twitch. “Is that what they’re calling it?”

Jackson elbows him, relieved all over again when Mark laughs outright. He wouldn’t have blamed Mark if he’d wanted to make a way bigger deal out of it than that. He sure as hell doesn’t like the thought of walking in on Mark hooking up with someone.

“I’m just saying! The only thing more obvious would've been him saying he, like, wanted to see your saber or something.”

“If I got laid whenever somebody tried using fencing lines on me, I wouldn’t have any time for actual fencing,” Jackson says with dignity, like he hadn’t used one of those lines on Zitao. The effect’s probably ruined when he waggles his eyebrows, but oh well. “Besides, he really did want to look at them. Trophy kink.”

“I didn’t need to know that!” Mark exclaims, wincing, and Jackson cackles.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jackson barely notices Jaebum when they pass each other on his way to the shower—Jaebum’s room is next to his, and between their shared class and how they’re both pledging Kappa Tau, they see each other constantly—until Jaebum pulls him to a halt. “What’s up?” Jackson asks cheerfully.

Jaebum grimaces. “Next time you and Tao are here—okay, next time can you not be here, but if you have to be, can you not try to yell the dorm down?”

“Oh, shit, were we that loud?”

Jaebum gives him an incredulous look. “Didn’t you hear me knocking on the wall?” 

Jackson thinks back. He can remember lots of things, of course—Zitao moaning his name, his high, desperate whimpers when he came; how the wet, filthy sounds of Zitao sucking him off had all but echoed in his ears—

“Never mind,” Jaebum says abruptly, snapping Jackson back to the present. Jackson takes one look at his disgusted expression and bursts out laughing, grasping Jaebum’s arm for support.

“I’m sorry! I’ll try to be quieter!”

“Why do I feel like that won’t really work?” Jaebum asks dryly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Zitao doesn’t know Hongbin well yet. He’s not sure if anyone in Kappa Tau does, for that matter, since Hongbin’s one of the quietest guys in this year’s pledge class. He hasn’t gone unnoticed, not with that face, but he listens a lot more than he talks. Zitao’s heard a few awed mentions by various brothers of how he actually blushes when anyone tries to flirt with him. 

“We were working out together earlier, and I told him he should join us,” Wonshik explains to everyone when Hongbin arrives, pulling out the empty chair to his right and motioning for Hongbin to sit down. With a quick, nervous smile, Hongbin obeys.

“Sorry, I turned too soon and had to find my way back,” he explains.

“Don’t worry about it,” Moonkyu assures him. “Taemin and Jongin just got here, too.”

“It took forever to wake him up!” Taemin says yet again. Jongin grimaces but doesn’t lift his head from Taemin’s shoulder. 

“Jongin sleeps more than the rest of us combined,” Chanyeol tells Hongbin, slinging his arm over the back of Byunghun’s chair, then pauses to reconsider. “Well, except Wonshik.”

“Taemin sucks away his life force,” Zitao adds in a stage whisper. Taemin just smirks.

Hongbin smiles hesitantly, like he’s not quite sure if he should laugh at the joke or not. Gaze softening, Wonshik shifts closer to him. “Did you look the menu up earlier? I asked for one for you here, too.”

Zitao watches, interested for some reason he can’t quite explain, as Hongbin takes the offered menu, glancing at Wonshik before he opens it. “There were a few things I couldn’t decide between. I don’t—wait, did you guys order yet?”

“We were waiting for everyone to get here,” Wonshik says, and before Hongbin can vocalize the apology that’s clearly about to come he adds, “What were you thinking about getting? We can recommend stuff.”

“Okay,” Hongbin agrees.

Zitao chimes right in with everyone else—if there’s one thing almost every Cartwright student can discuss at length, it’s the food at Wade’s Diner—and wonders if any of the others notice how Wonshik is always the first person Hongbin looks to.

 

Zitao has a few errands to run in town after dinner, and by the time he gets back to the house open basement night is already underway. He doesn’t see Jackson, but he finds Wonshik talking to a few people by the bar, Hongbin included.

Zitao heads over, giving Wonshik a quick hug. “What’s up?”

“Entertaining Hongbin while he’s on duty,” Wonshik says. Hongbin smiles, though his eyes stay on the scuffed wood counter he’s wiping. Zitao’s tempted to tell him there’s no point in cleaning anything until the end of the night, but he has a feeling that that’s something Hongbin will have to realize for himself. “I’ve found the only pledge who would rather be working than partying."

Hongbin looks up at that. “I don’t mind,” he says quickly. “All the—it’s fine, it’s nothing to complain about—”

“You don’t like dancing, do you?” Wonshik guesses, and the way Hongbin grimaces makes the other two laugh. 

"I'm not good at it," he admits. 

“You just need someone to teach you,” Zitao says, and doesn’t miss how Hongbin’s eyes dart right to Wonshik.

Hongbin's called away a few minutes later, and Moonkyu enlists Wonshik’s help to carry more drinks out to another room, but Zitao only has a moment to himself before Minho approaches him. 

“Has anyone talked to you about joining the intramural basketball team yet?” Minho asks.

Given that they won't even start playing until the beginning of next semester, the fact that Minho is talking to him about it already is—well, it's exactly what he should have expected from Minho all along. Somehow Zitao is able to keep a straight face. “Not yet, but it’s kind of early.”

“I told the pledges about all our teams.” Minho frowns. “We have a lot of positions to fill. We need to get started.”

“Mmhmm.” Zitao pulls his phone out and sends a quick _minho misses u_ text to Kris, then shoves his phone away again before he can let himself look at how most of the other texts he’s sent Kris this week haven’t received responses. Kris is just busy settling into his new job, that’s all, it doesn’t mean anything—

“Ask around tonight, since everyone’s here,” Minho says then, startling Zitao from his reverie. “Tell whoever’s interested that we’re having a practice game tomorrow.”

Jackson shows up just in time to hear that. “What’s happening tomorrow?” he asks Minho, who doesn’t even blink as Jackson wraps his arm around Zitao’s waist and presses in against his side. Zitao’s not sure if it’s because word of their hookup spread that fast or because Jackson’s affectionate with everyone. Either is possible, knowing Kappa Tau.

“Do you play basketball?” Zitao asks him.

Jackson lights up. “Yeah! I was point guard on my school’s team.”

Minho nods, probably filling in Jackson’s name in the mental team roster Zitao’s sure he’s already keeping. "We'll need you for our intramural team, then. We’re going to start playing warm-up games tomorrow, to get ready for the season."

"Even though it doesn't start until after Christmas break," Zitao mutters.

Minho ignores him, his winning smile focused solely on Jackson. Zitao spares a moment to wonder which Kappa Tau office Minho plans to run for at the end of the year, and feels sorry for his future opponents. "You should come."

"Sure, I’ll be there!" Jackson agrees.

Once Minho leaves Zitao smiles down at Jackson, turning on the smoldering look he even impressed himself with back when he’d practice it in the mirror, and leans in. He can hear the hitch in Jackson’s breathing. He’s so easy, Zitao thinks affectionately as he murmurs in Jackson’s ear, “So you brought Mark, right?”

Jackson yells indignantly and pulls away. Zitao reels him back in, giggling. “Why do you have to meet Mark?”

“He’s already seen me naked,” Zitao points out, beaming when he grimaces at the reminder. So easy. “Shouldn’t I at least meet him?”

Jackson groans. "Okay, fine. But don't do anything."

"Like what?" he asks innocently. Jackson gives him a narrow-eyed stare but takes him to find Mark, anyway.

Zitao had only caught a quick glimpse of Mark earlier that day, although he’s seen pictures of him on Instagram and Facebook. Once they’re all together, Zitao reaches two conclusions about him pretty quickly—Mark’s even more handsome in person than he is in pictures, his smile bright as Jackson automatically pulls him in against his side, and Jackson’s definitely falling for him. Jackson’s affectionate and easy and familiar with everyone, but he doesn’t look at anyone else like they’ve hung the moon, the way he does with Mark, and even if he did they wouldn’t return it the way Mark does.

Zitao can’t resist torturing Jackson a little. 

He gives Mark a smile, his lips curling flirtatiously at the edges. "I feel like I know you already," he tells him. "Jackson talks about you all the time."

Mark glances at Jackson. "You do?"

"Only good things," Jackson promises, rubbing the back of Mark’s neck. 

“Lots of good things," Zitao confirms, then takes a small step closer and adds, "So, when are you going to join Kappa Tau?"

"Okay, you met Mark, let’s go," Jackson cuts in quickly, tugging him away from Mark, regardless how both of them laugh at him for it.

"He's cute," Zitao comments as they head out of the room.

Jackson takes one last look over his shoulder, and Zitao sees his throat work as he swallows. "Yeah," Jackson says.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mark’s all but out of Jackson’s mind by the time they make it to Zitao’s bed. Jackson sits down on the edge of the mattress and quickly strips off his shirt, expecting Zitao to push him onto his back at any moment, but as soon as his shirt is over his head he discovers that Zitao’s on his knees in front of him.

“Are these the only jeans you have that fit?” Zitao teases as he sets about unfastening them. Jackson gets the hint and lifts his hips up, and between the two of them the jeans in question are off soon enough. “Why do you wear those baggy pants most of the time?”

Jackson’s laugh catches in his throat as Zitao strokes his hands down Jackson’s thighs. “I know the house is going for the whole twink look, and I don’t really fit—”

“We have that covered,” Zitao says with a quick smile, wetting his lips. “So you don’t have to cover _yourself_ , okay?”

Jackson laughs again, squirming as Zitao spreads his thighs and leans in between them. “What are you—seriously—”

“ _Seriously_ , you’re amazing,” Zitao tells him. He lowers his head, keeping his eyes on Jackson’s as he brushes a kiss against the inside of his thigh, then mouths over the same spot. When he bites down, Jackson cries out, fisting the sheets to try to keep from arching off the bed.

“Oh my _god_ —”

“What’s that?” Zitao asks, the look in his eyes more smug than ever. And deservedly so, damn it.

“Do it again,” Jackson says breathlessly.

After a few minutes, Jackson registers Zitao’s mouth heading toward his cock and he lifts his head quickly, touching Zitao’s shoulder. “Wait, wait, hold on.”

Zitao pauses, looking up at him in surprise. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I mean—you did that before, and I didn’t really…” Jackson takes a deep breath and forces himself to start over. “It was great, but I want to do something for you, too, you know? It’s your turn.”

Zitao’s eyes are wide with surprise, but he smiles and presses a quick kiss to the hollow of Jackson’s hip. “I like blowing you,” he assures him. “It’s fun.”

“Still,” Jackson says stubbornly. “Your turn. It’s fair.”

“We could always 69.”

“In _this_ bed?” Jackson points out, making Zitao laugh as he stands back up and drapes his arms around Jackson’s neck, leaning down for long, slow kisses that have Jackson’s head spinning.

“You know what I really want you to do?” Zitao asks, resting his forehead against Jackson’s.

“What?” Jackson asks, tearing his gaze away from Zitao’s lips long enough to meet his eyes.

Zitao hums, kissing him one more time before he murmurs, “I want you to fuck me.”

Jackson’s eyes widen, the words going straight to his dick, which pulses in response. “Now?” he asks in disbelief, too consumed with thoughts of what might happen next to really think about what he’s saying. He’d hoped for—well, a lot of things, but that was definitely on the list. 

Zitao grins. “Well, you can blow me first if you want…”

“Yeah, come here.” He startles a laugh out of Zitao as he makes quick work of Zitao’s briefs, but Zitao isn’t laughing as Jackson gives his semi a few quick pumps before leaning forward and taking him into his mouth. The soft sound Zitao makes in response shoots straight through him.

He’s not like Zitao; no real technique, no teasing looks or slow, torturous buildup. He just goes for it, the same way he does everything else in life, swallowing down as much as he can and bobbing his head quickly, his hand moving just as fast over what he can’t fit into his mouth yet. Zitao moans loudly, clutching Jackson’s shoulders, and it spurs Jackson on. He can feel Zitao getting harder, hot and heavy on Jackson’s tongue, and he presses onward, working his way up more and more with every motion as Zitao gasps his name until finally Jackson’s lips are flush against his abdomen. He’s not sure he’s ever been as glad he determinedly developed that particular skill as he is right now, hearing Zitao make a noise like he’s been punched in the gut. His hands tighten on Jackson’s shoulders, and Jackson gives his ass a quick squeeze and keeps going.

“Jackson, wait, I’m gonna come—” Zitao manages to say after a few minutes, pushing at his head. Jackson immediately pulls off and looks up at him, feeling Zitao tremble under his hands.

Zitao stares back, wild-eyed and bent forward, like he’s long since lost the ability to hold himself upright. “Why didn’t you tell me you could do that?”

Jackson smiles a little. “Surprise,” he says hoarsely, and presses a kiss to Zitao’s stomach. “Is there anything else you want?”

“Oh my god,” Zitao says in disbelief, and then he straddles Jackson’s lap and kisses him fiercely. Jackson kisses back for a little while, then carefully turns and lowers Zitao onto his back, Zitao keeping his arms around his neck. Jackson leans down over him to continue the kiss, ignoring the ache in his jaw. Zitao insistently tugs at the waistband of Jackson’s briefs, and Jackson obediently shoves them off, smiling quickly against Zitao’s lips.

Zitao finally breaks away from him, still looking stunned as he leans up and opens the drawer of his end table. He gropes through it until he pulls out a nearly-full container of lube. “Did I say _I’m_ glad you came to Cartwright?” he asks as he all but shoves it at Jackson. Jackson laughs roughly and nips at Zitao’s earlobe, pleased when he feels the tremor that goes through him in response. 

Jackson doesn’t take the same approach when he fingers Zitao open as he did to sucking him off, of course; that he takes slow, one finger at a time, sucking Zitao’s cock when he needs the distraction and waiting until Zitao’s rocking on three of his fingers, begging Jackson to fuck him, before he finally pulls them out. Jackson had debated bringing condoms tonight before finally shoving a few in his back pocket, just in case, and is thankful all over again as he grabs one from his discarded jeans.

Jackson rolls on the condom quickly, then leans back down and kisses Zitao a few more times, stroking reassuring hands down his sides. “Ready?”

“Just do it already,” Zitao whines, lifting his hips.

Jackson knows he’s lucky they hooked up this afternoon—and, okay, that he jerked off in the shower thinking about it afterwards—because keeping it together while he’s easing into Zitao, feeling how he’s so hot and tight and everything else that’s cliché to say but unbelievable to feel, is enough of a struggle even under those circumstances. He doesn’t want to think about how he might have embarrassed himself if this had been the first thing they’d done.

Jackson grits his teeth, clutching at the sheets as Zitao tightens inadvertently around him. “Are you okay?” Jackson chokes out, registering how Zitao’s gripping his braced forearms.

“Fine.” Zitao takes a deep breath. “Just need a second. It’s been a while.”

“Okay.” Jackson kisses Zitao’s creased brow, then his temple, forces himself to keep still no matter how desperate he’s becoming to move. “What do you need, or like, what do you like? Anything.”

Zitao looks up at him. “Anything?”

Jackson laughs raggedly. “Except the medals. Or anything that could hurt us. I’m not into pain.”

“I’ll think of something.” Zitao kisses the hinge of his jaw, then lifts his hips, the sudden motion startling a stuttering exhale out of Jackson. “Okay, go.”

“You sure?” Jackson asks, and when Zitao nods Jackson moves, slowly at first, then picking up the pace as Zitao presses his heel against his back, urging him on.

The blow job was a good start, but Jackson doesn’t consider them to be even yet. This afternoon had been amazing, but it hadn’t taken Jackson long afterward to decide it had been too much about him. He’s determined to more than make up for that.

Luckily it’s not hard to figure out what Zitao likes, since he’s always so vocal about it; whimpering when Jackson tugs lightly at one nipple between his teeth, gasping his name when Jackson sucks kisses along his collarbone. And kissing, constantly, dragging Jackson back up for more again and again. Jackson’s hazily convinced that his lips will be swollen for days, and he’s more than okay with that.

“Here, wait—” Zitao begins, and Jackson obediently slows. Zitao raises his legs and Jackson quickly gets the idea and helps Zitao prop them over his shoulders, then presses forward again. The new angle lets him in deep enough that Jackson lets out a long groan.

Zitao’s into it, he can tell by his labored breathing and distracted kisses and the way he’s gripping Jackson’s ass, urging him on, but he’s not as far gone as he could be. Frowning, Jackson pauses.

“What?”

“Hold on,” he says absently and pulls out, then presses back in at a slightly different angle. It takes a few tries, but he knows he’s found the right one when Zitao _wails_ as Jackson thrusts forward. He digs his fingers into Jackson’s sides as Jackson redoubles his efforts, finish line in sight and determined to get them both there.

Jackson thrusts a few more times and then comes hard, his vision going dark for a few seconds as he rides it out. He sprawls out onto Zitao’s chest, panting for air, vaguely aware of Zitao laughing quietly as he wraps his arms around him.

Finally Jackson recovers enough to pull out and roll onto his back. There’s barely enough room for them to lie side by side, but luckily for him Zitao keeps one arm around his waist, anchoring him to the bed. Jackson’s glad for that, since he doesn’t think he would have had the energy to stop himself from falling off. “That was—” he begins, smiling sleepily at Zitao. One look at Zitao sets off an internal alarm he doesn’t quite recognize—Zitao’s gaze is still intent, not exhausted and blissed out—but it’s not until Jackson thinks back to what he’d felt just a few seconds ago, still hot and hard against his stomach, that he realizes what’s wrong.

“You didn’t come yet?” Jackson groans, covering his face with his arm. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Zitao promises. The mattress rustles beneath them as Zitao leans up, pressing a kiss to his chin, then nudging Jackson’s arm away so that he can kiss Jackson properly. Jackson’s struggling to stay awake, honestly, but he does his best to keep up. The last thing he wants is to disappoint Zitao even more.

“Do you want… is there—what do you want?” Jackson asks once Zitao tears his mouth away, nipping along Jackson’s jawline. 

Zitao murmurs something indistinct, his lowered voice sending a shiver shooting down Jackson’s spine as he adds, “There’s something I really want to try…”

That _something_ soon has Jackson on his knees, leaning forward on his elbows but looking back so he can watch Zitao warm the lube in his hands. Zitao’s eyes are darker than ever, tan skin beaded with sweat, his cock flushed and hard against his stomach. Jackson licks his lips at the sight. He wants—so many things.

But right now it’s about what Zitao wants, so Jackson spreads his legs and waits as Zitao rubs the lube over the inside of Jackson’s thighs, dropping his head with a groan when Zitao’s heated gaze meets his. Zitao presses a kiss to the base of his spine. 

“We should lie down,” Jackson tells him. “You should rest.”

Zitao laughs, an edge to it that has a shiver shooting down Jackson’s spine. “You just want to cuddle.”

“So do you,” Jackson returns, and Zitao leans in and brushes a quick kiss against his lips before nodding in agreement.

It takes some doing, but eventually they get rearranged so that they’re both on their sides, Zitao plastered against Jackson’s back, one arm around Jackson’s waist. Then he lines his cock up between Jackson’s thighs and begins to thrust between them, Jackson pressing them together as best he can.

It’s not the first time someone’s fucked Jackson’s thighs—full-on sex before a meet isn’t the best idea, after all, so he’d found ways around it—but he’d forgotten just how much he likes it. His cock tries valiantly to stir back to life, provoked by how Zitao’s rubs against the underside of it, the consistent pressure too much and not enough all at the same time. Zitao’s mouth is at the back of his neck, sucking and biting, and Jackson dimly wonders if it’ll leave a mark but can’t really bring himself to care.

Jackson reaches back and sinks one hand into Zitao’s hair, the way he knows Zitao likes it, his head spinning as Zitao’s breathy moans get louder. “Next time…” he begins.

“What?” 

“You should— _jesus_ —next time you should fuck me—”

There’s more he wants to say, but just that has Zitao coming with a sob, biting down on the flesh of Jackson’s shoulder again as he rides it out. 

“You okay?” Jackson asks once Zitao’s still, twisting back just enough to get a look at him.

Zitao nods against him, his eyes barely flickering open before they close again. _Now_ he looks fucked out, Jackson thinks, the satisfaction of it warming him. “Fantastic,” Zitao mumbles, and Jackson squeezes his hand, his own eyes slipping shut. He’ll need to clean them both up, but that can wait a while.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jackson’s just finished said cleanup when his phone vibrates. He grabs it off the nightstand, ignoring Zitao's mumbled protests as it disturbs his rest, and swipes through the unlock screen. It’s a text from Mark. _im leaving_

_on my way_ , he sends back, and sits up. “Gotta go,” he tells Zitao, who sits up, too, pouting at him.

“Already?”

“Yeah, Mark’s leaving.”

Zitao’s expression clears almost immediately. “You two are so cute.”

“I can’t let him go by himself,” Jackson points out with a disbelieving laugh. “I invited him, remember?”

“Like a date.”

“I’d be a pretty terrible date if I spent it fucking somebody else,” Jackson says, and groans when Zitao smirks. “Hey, that doesn’t mean—”

“I told you,” he says happily, ignoring his protests, “if you ever want to ask Mark to join us—”

“ _No_ ,” Jackson says firmly, and tackles Zitao back against the mattress when Zitao laughs at him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jackson gets a clean sheet from the dresser, opens a window, and triple-checks to make sure Zitao doesn’t need anything else, then heads out. 

A few steps down the hallway he nearly runs into Wonshik. Jackson hasn’t really talked to him much yet, but there’s no time like the present. “Oh, hey!” he says, offering him a smile. “What’s up?” 

“Hey.” Wonshik’s eyes go to the door. “You were with Tao?” He doesn’t sound pleased, and not in an inconvenienced-by-his-roommate way. 

Awkward. “Yeah, uh. We were just. Hanging out.”

Wonshik sighs. “Right.”

Jackson starts to wonder how much of Zitao’s theory about him and Mark is him being a shit and how much is him projecting. “So. I’m gonna go.”

“Later,” Wonshik says absently.

Jackson sends Zitao a quick warning text before going downstairs. Mark's waiting near the door, talking to Jaebum. The sudden smile that crosses his face when their eyes meet makes Jackson smile, too, all thoughts of Zitao forgotten as he hurries to join him.

Jaebum’s stuck on cleanup duty, so after wishing him luck Jackson and Mark head out, falling in step easily as they head back to their dorm. 

“Hey,” Jackson says, and Mark looks over at him, mild curiosity in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to ditch you. I’m sorry if—”

Mark shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. I hung out with Jaebum and Youngji most of the time. It was fun.” He smiles a little, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. “Guess you had fun, too.”

“Yeah, KT’s the best.” Jackson stretches exaggeratedly, and can’t help but grin. Two hookups with one of the hottest people he’s ever met in one day, and there’ll be more to come. Fuck, he loves Cartwright. “Why are you in Omega Chi, anyway? Seriously.”

“I like Omega Chi,” Mark says. “And I’m a legacy. Dad was an Omega Chi.”

“Your dad’s too cool to be an Omega Chi! Same as you.” Jackson pretends to reconsider. “Well, maybe not, he’s definitely cooler than you—”

“Hey!” Mark shoves him and Jackson laughs loudly. “I still can’t believe you remembered my dad instead of me.”

“I remembered you, too!” Jackson insists. He’s pretty sure no one could forget Mark. The first time Jackson had seen him, when they’d been in the same tour group during Jackson’s first visit to Cartwright, it had been a nearly physical shock to see someone that handsome in person. It still kind of is, in a nice way. Jackson likes Mark’s face. “Your dad just talked way more.”

“Yeah, he always does. I never talk a lot, I guess.”

“You talk to me.” Jackson hadn’t found it that hard to get Mark to open up, honestly. He had read Mark’s name when he’d gotten his dorm assignment, thought back to the tour, and looked him up on Facebook to make sure he was remembering the right person. He’d discovered that Mark was even better-looking than he had remembered, uttered a long-suffering sigh at the thought of being compared to a roommate like that, and then immediately sent him a friend request. As soon as Mark had accepted it, the messages—and texts, once they had traded phone numbers—had begun, Jackson asking countless questions and Mark gradually coming out of his shell as he sent back bemused answers, then questions of his own. By the time they’d actually begun to share a room, Jackson had felt like he’d known Mark for years.

“I mean, like, in a group.”

“I’m more important,” Jackson says lightly, slinging his arm around Mark’s shoulders, and Mark laughs.

“What about you? Why Kappa Tau?”

Jackson shrugs. “I know someone whose cousin goes here, so she told me about it, and the more I heard about them the more I wanted to join. I mean, how many frats even want to talk about having gay members? And Kappa Tau even has a gay president.”

"So that’s why you came to Cartwright, too?" Mark asks. "I mean, even when we met you never talked about visiting any other school. I figured this was the only one you wanted to go to, or the only one you got into, or something—"

“Hey, I got into some good schools!” Jackson informs him. "I had fencing!"

"That's not what I meant,” Mark says, wincing.

“I ranked 11th in my event. In the world.” He doesn't really show off—well, much—when it comes to his fencing career anymore, but the flash of awe in Mark's expression is oddly satisfying. 

“So why didn’t you go to a school with a team?”

“Because I didn’t want everything to be about fencing,” Jackson explains. “I want to do everything: meet lots of people, join a fraternity and some clubs. Just, like, do what I want and eat what I want and not worry about training and dieting and all that all the time.” It’s something he’d explained over and over again during the college application process. His mother had always understood, but he doesn’t think his father ever will. “I mean, I love fencing. I’ll always love it. But I’ve given up a lot for it, and I don’t want to anymore, and I don’t want to keep doing it and start to hate it.” Mark nods thoughtfully. Jackson gives him a quick smile, more than ready to change the subject. “What about you?" 

Mark shrugs, his gaze fixing itself on the ground. "Dad came here, so I’d always heard a lot about it. I didn't really have anywhere else I wanted to go, and I don't really know what I want to do, but I had to pick something. So I came here." 

Jackson thinks about what he's heard about Mark's family, his successful older sisters and his really smart younger brother. He wraps his other arm around Mark’s waist, giving him a quick squeeze. "You'll figure it out," he tells him. "That's the whole point of college. That and getting an awesome roommate."

"And a hot boyfriend?" Mark teases.

“Who has—you mean _Tao_?" Jackson asks in disbelief. “It’s not like that. We’re just friends. We’re not interested in—I don’t want to date, and even if, I wouldn’t—he’s not—” Like always when he gets flustered, Jackson’s mouth just keeps moving, faster than his thoughts can line themselves up into something coherent. He’s not even sure why he’s making such a big deal out of something Mark said as a joke, he just knows he needs Mark to understand.

Mark laughs. “Dude, I’m kidding. I’m not expecting you guys to lavalier each other.”

“I don’t want him to _lavalier_ me.” Jackson doesn’t even want to _date_ right now. The last thing he wants to think about is accepting anybody’s fraternity letters, the Greek system equivalent of a promise ring. “Can guys even lavalier other guys?”

“Maybe you’ll find out,” Mark says with a smirk.

“ _Mark_!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Zitao had asked Wonshik to be his roommate as soon as they’d been approved to live in the Kappa Tau house. Given that his first roommate last year had gotten expelled for stealing some of Zitao’s stuff—Zitao takes a moment to mourn his never-recovered autographed Big Bang album—he’d been extra careful about all his future living plans. 

Choosing to room with Wonshik had seemed like an easy decision. He’s close to him, he trusts him, and he hadn’t foreseen any issues coming up that they would have trouble dealing with. Baekhyun had tried to talk Zitao out of it the idea, pointing out that Wonshik’s unrequited feelings for him could cause trouble, but he had waved off his concerns. After all, they had made it through freshman year without an issue. Zitao had figured that Wonshik’s crush might wear off over the summer, and that even if they didn’t, the two of them could continue on as they always had.

Now he’s wondering how he could have been that naïve.

He stares over at where Wonshik is seated at his desk, supposedly working on his homework, although he hasn’t done much more than tap his pencil against his textbook for the last few minutes. They've only exchanged a handful of words since Wonshik had returned to their room last night, and no matter how badly Zitao wants to break the silence he just doesn’t know what to say. 

Nothing like this had ever been a problem for Zitao last year, so he had never even thought about it. Both of his one-off hookups had taken place during parties, so they’d found random rooms in the house to stumble into. He and Baekhyun had almost always used Baekhyun’s room, Baekhyun alerting him whenever Jongdae had class or plans or had left to spend the weekend with Liyin. Zitao had never had to schedule things around either of his roommates, and certainly hadn’t run the risk of hurting them.

Zitao’s stomach is churning. He should have known better than to hook up with Jackson here last night. How could he have not thought of Wonshik? 

“I’m sorry,” Zitao says abruptly, unable to keep it in anymore.

Wonshik turns immediately. “What?”

“Wonshik—” _I’m not interested in you. I don’t think I ever will be._ Even as the words cross his mind, Zitao’s mouth goes dry. He can’t say those things, not when Wonshik already looks so drawn and tense. “I’m sorry about last night,” he says instead. “If I ever need… we can go somewhere else, I won’t do anything here again—”

“Don’t,” he insists. “It’s your room, you should use it.”

“It’s _our_ room. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Zitao hangs his head. “I’m really sorry.”

Wonshik doesn’t say anything for a few moments, but then: "No, I'm sorry."

Zitao looks back up, startled. Wonshik’s expression is set, determined. “What?”

“You shouldn’t feel bad about using our room for anything. And if you and Jackson are together, you’re—”

“No, wait,” he says quickly. “It’s not like that. We’re not together.”

“You’re not?”

“No! We’re just friends.”

“Oh.” Wonshik’s whole posture eases, and there’s a definite drop in tension. “You said that after last year you were done with hookups, so I figured—”

Zitao smiles wryly. He’s not looking forward to finding out how many other things he was wrong about last year. “I guess I’m not.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jackson doesn’t get out of bed until lunchtime. As he heads to the shower, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he sees Mark at the far end of the hallway, on his way back to the room. Mark waves, and Jackson veers toward him instead. 

"What’s up?" Jackson asks around a yawn, giving Mark a quick hug.

Mark beams. “Getting ready for volunteer hours. We’re going to the animal shelter.”

“You like animals?” Stupid question, since Mark’s practically glowing right now, but Jackson’s maybe a little distracted by just how bright Mark’s smile is. Plus he’s probably still just tired or something. It always takes him a while to wake all the way up. 

“Yeah! Like, I was telling Dad I don’t even know if I want to live in the Omega Chi house next year. I’d rather get an apartment so I could have a dog.”

“You can’t live in the Omega Chi house anyway,” Jackson says, resting his hands on Mark’s shoulders and fixing him with a solemn stare. He adds in a stage whisper, “ _It doesn’t exist_.”

“Screw you,” Mark says, but he’s laughing as he leans into Jackson’s touch. "What about you, what are you doing?"

“I’m playing basketball with some of the KTs later.” Mark raises his eyebrows, and Jackson defensively adds, “What? I played in high school! I’m good, man!”

“I thought you did fencing.”

“I did that, too. And track.”

“Wow.”

“I’m well-rounded as hell,” Jackson informs him proudly. “You can come watch if you’ll be back by then. We can play one-on-one, too.”

Mark shakes his head. “Can’t, sorry. I’m going to be with Omega Chi all day.”

“Mark,” Jackson says gently, “you don’t have to lie about your pretend frat. You can just tell me you don’t want to come.”

“Jackson!” 

Jackson grins. "Fine. If you want to have dinner—”

“Oh, uh, actually I’m going to go hang out with Suji tonight,” Mark says. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

Which. Isn't what Jackson expected to hear. “Oh. Uh. Awesome. She’s really hot.”

“Yeah, she’s great.”

Jackson holds out his fist, and after eyeing him, brow furrowed, Mark taps it. Because they’re bros, and that’s what bros do. Obviously.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Zitao checks his phone one last time, but nothing’s changed—Kris still hasn’t answered his text from the night before, or contacted him at all for almost a week. 

He hung out with Kris a lot at the beginning of August, helping him move into his new apartment. He’d taken Kris to a few of his favorite restaurants in the city and they’d both listed off one idea after another for things to do together when Zitao visited home during breaks. Everything had been perfectly normal.

But as soon as Zitao had gone back to Cartwright, Kris had become all but impossible to get ahold of. On the rare occasions he answers Zitao’s texts, his responses are brief and don’t continue the conversation at all. It’s getting harder and harder for Zitao to convince himself that it’s just that Kris is busy when he sees that Kris is still so quick to interact with everyone else online, and that he’s constantly posting pictures of himself having fun around New York.

Zitao stares at the phone for a few more seconds, then gives in to impulse and calls him. He hates that it’s a shock when Kris actually answers; that something he should have taken for granted has become so rare. 

“Hello?” Kris says hesitantly.

Zitao swallows, rubbing his chest like that’s going to calm his panicked heartbeat at all. Kris hasn’t made his heart pound like this in months, he thinks wryly, though last year it had always been in a very different way. “Hey, it’s me.”

“Hi.”

“How’s work going?” Small talk about something he should have long since heard about. He should know all about how Kris is settling in New York; he’d been looking forward to getting Kris’s running commentary on his newfound city life, but instead all he has is a general idea from Kris’s tweets and Instagram posts.

“Fine. Crazy busy.”

Not too busy for Instagram posts, Zitao doesn’t say. “You like it, though?”

“Yeah, a lot. How about you, how’s Cartwright?”

“Fine. The house is still standing.”

Kris laughs a little. “That’s good.”

When they’d first gotten to know each other last year, Kris had seemed so cool that making him laugh or smile had felt like a huge accomplishment to Zitao. By now Zitao is so familiar with the flash of his genuine, gummy smile, the sound of his real laughter, that the stilted version he’s hearing now makes him feel even worse. 

“Minho’s already talking about the intramural team,” he pushes onward determinedly. 

“Yeah, I saw your text.”

_So why didn’t you reply?_ “Yeah. So. How’s Jessica?”

“She’s fine. I’m going to stay with her this weekend, actually.”

“Oh.” Jessica’s living in Baltimore. Zitao could easily drive out there. Whatever’s wrong with Kris clearly isn’t something they can hash out over the phone, but if Zitao can see him face to face… “Do you think you guys will be come out here? Or I can go there, if you—”

“I, uh—I mean, I haven’t seen her in a while. I kind of just wanted to spend time with her.”

Zitao winces. “Yeah, sorry. I get it.” He does. Of course Kris wants to spend time with his girlfriend. Under normal circumstances, Zitao wouldn’t have even asked; he would have just waited until fall break and spent a day with him then. 

It’s another few, agonizing minutes before Kris says good-bye, claiming that he’d promised his mother that he’d call her. Zitao manages to keep his voice even all the while, although his hands are shaking as he sets the phone down again. Not only is he nowhere nearer to figuring out what’s wrong with Kris, he’s sure that he’s just made it worse somehow.

Whatever Zitao’s feelings had been last year, Kris has always been first and foremost his friend. He feels like that’s slipping away, no matter how hard he tries to hold on, and he hates that he doesn’t know what to do about it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You look happy,” Youngji teases as she follows Jackson through the cafeteria line half an hour later.

“I’m a happy person,” Jackson says defensively.

“Extra happy.” Her mouth widens with sudden laughter, and she tugs at his shirt collar. “Is that a hickey?”

He snatches the material away, smoothing it back into place. “Did I say you can look down my shirt?” he demands, and she laughs again. “Were you going to make fun of my body again?”

“I'd never—”

“It’s very hurtful!” He offers her a fruit cup, sets it on her tray when she nods, and then picks one out for himself. 

Once Jackson makes it through the line he quickly spots Hongbin sitting with a baby-faced boy with bleached hair who Jackson doesn’t recognize. Jackson impulsively heads their way, Youngji right on his heels.

"Can we sit here?" Jackson asks.

Hongbin blinks up at them in surprise. "Yeah, sure.”

“Hi, I’m Youngji,” Youngji tells Hongbin’s friend.

Jackson pulls out a chair for Youngji, then sits down beside her and gives the new kid an extra wide smile. “I’m Jackson,” he says, then gestures at himself and Youngji. “We’re married.”

“Not for real!” Youngji quickly clarifies.

“I’m Sanghyuk,” the kid tells them. “Hongbin's best friend.”

"He's visiting,” Hongbin says. “We only live like an hour away from here, so."

Youngji smiles. “Oh, then you'll still be able to see each other a lot! What did you think of Kappa Tau, Sanghyuk?” 

“I haven’t been yet,” Sanghyuk says.

Jackson had been about to take a bite of pizza, but upon hearing that he drops the slice in favor of gaping at Hongbin. “You didn’t take him to the house?”

“He just got here!” he says quickly. “He’s hungry!”

“Starving,” Sanghyuk confirms through a mouthful of chili.

"You have to let him eat first," Youngji tells Jackson firmly.

"I didn't say he couldn't eat!" 

“We’ll go to Kappa Tau next,” Hongbin assures them.

“You’ll like it,” Jackson tells Sanghyuk, leaning across the table and touching his arm. “You can meet everybody—hey, I bet Hakyeon will love you.”

“Hakyeon?” Sanghyuk asks, glancing at Hongbin. “He’s the president, right?”

Hongbin nods. “He’s nice. You’ll like him.”

"You should come back next weekend so you can go to open basement night and meet everyone,” Jackson adds. “And you can meet the ZBZs, too!”

"Zeta Beta Zeta," Youngji explains when Sanghyuk’s brow furrows in confusion. "We're Kappa Tau's sister sorority."

"They're great, too. You'll like everyone. They're all really nice, and hot."

Sanghyuk’s laugh is cut short as his attention shifts, his eyes widening as he stares at something over Jackson's shoulder. Jackson turns, following his gaze to where Zitao has just walked in with a group of other Kappa Taus. Though—Jackson looks back and forth between them again, just to be sure—Baekhyun’s the one that Sanghyuk can't seem to look away from. 

“Want me to introduce you to him?” he offers, and Sanghyuk startles. “I'm friends with his little.” Youngji snickers, and Jackson elbows her.

“No,” Sanghyuk says quickly, shaking his head. His ears are starting to turn red. He’s almost as adorable as Bambam, Jackson thinks. “No, that’s okay.”

“I mean, Baekhyun’s not my type, but lots of people like him—” Jackson continues. 

“A lot of the girls talk about his hands,” Youngji tells Jackson promptly, and he scowls. “And his thighs.”

“But my thighs are better!” Jackson insists. “Right? Look, Hongbin, feel my thighs—”

“Leave me out of this!” Hongbin says through his laughter, his hands held up to ward Jackson off.

 

 

 

 

 

 

That afternoon Minho scans the assembled group, then shakes his head. “Too bad Kris isn’t here."

Jackson has his arm around Zitao, so he feels it when Zitao flinches. “Who’s Kris?” Jackson asks, curious.

“Baekhyun’s big," Sungjong says. "He graduated last year.”

“He was the other team captain,” Zitao adds. 

He sounds normal, but Jackson still doesn’t know what to think about that earlier reaction. A distraction is in order, he decides, and nudges Zitao. “So how are we dividing teams? I’ll guard Zitao!”

Zitao’s eyebrows wing upwards. “Really?”

“Yeah, and I’ll kick your ass.”

Zitao looks down at him pointedly, laughing when Jackson scowls and hip checks him in retaliation. Like he hasn’t been facing off against taller guys for years.

Zitao’s good, Jackson discovers as they play, and can see the impressed light in Zitao’s eyes as Jackson shows his own skills, too, completing passes and sinking shots. Okay, maybe he shows off a little, but it’s rarely failed him before and it doesn’t now.

Jackson hugs his teammates, whooping with glee as Kangjoon swings him around, after they pull off a six-point win; but Zitao’s the one who tugs Jackson in against his side on their way back to the house, heedless of how sweaty they both are.

“Come back with us?” he suggests.

“Shouldn’t I shower?” Jackson asks innocently, though he can’t quite suppress his grin.

Zitao grins back. “We have showers. And extra towels.”

“What about extra clothes?”

“What do you need clothes for?”

Jackson snickers. “Very smooth,” he says, making a grab for Zitao’s water bottle, heat pooling in his stomach when Zitao presses it to Jackson’s lips for him instead of just handing it to him.

As they keep walking, Jackson pulls his phone out of his pocket, just to check a few things. Mark’s posted three different pictures on Instagram, each one of him with a different dog. Jackson makes sure to like each of them. Mark’s beaming in every single one, his whole face lit up and open, and the dogs seem to love him, too.

“He’s cute,” Zitao remarks, an audible smile in his voice as he leans in for a closer look at the picture of Mark caught mid-laugh as the beagle in his arms licks his face.

Jackson yanks his phone away. “Did I say you could look?”

“Mean,” Zitao says with an exaggerated pout.

Somehow Jackson isn’t surprised when he sees Zitao and Mark begin following each other on Instagram within the hour.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Baekhyun enters the house as Jackson leaves that night. He gives Jackson a wide, bordering on smirking, smile, one he turns on Zitao as soon as Jackson's gone. "So that's who you're going after?" he teases. "A pledge?"

Zitao rolls his eyes. “Like you haven’t been checking out Jongin since Rush Week.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” Baekhyun points out. “It’s not like your older men phase worked out.”

“It wasn’t an _older men phase_.”

Baekhyun scoffs. “Come on, Tao. Me, Kris, Woohyun—all men, all older.”

He tries not to wince. That’s not even the complete list, and it’s not like the missing people make it look any better. A fuck buddy, a gut-wrenching crush on a straight guy, and three hookups with good friends; as track records go, it's not the one he wishes he had. “And Minseok,” he adds, because Baekhyun would probably remember that sooner or later, anyway.

“See?”

Zitao forces a laugh. “Are you still mad he didn’t hook up with you, too?”

“He would have,” Baekhyun says stubbornly. “One more year and I would have had him.”

Zitao pats his shoulder. It’s so much easier to tease Baekhyun than to dwell on his own disappointments. “If you say so.”

“Even Minseok makes mistakes, okay.”

Zitao recoils. Later he’ll realize Baekhyun was talking about himself, not about Zitao, but right now all he can hear is the echo of his own insecurities, Baekhyun finally putting into words what Zitao’s been afraid all this time is true. 

“I guess he’s not the only one, right?” he asks roughly, swallowing back a sudden lump in his throat.

Baekhyun blinks. “What?” 

"Why would you even say that?" Zitao’s voice breaks on the last word, and he shakes his head and pushes past Baekhyun, hurrying out of the house. He can’t deal with him right now, not when he feels this raw.

" _What_?" Baekhyun calls after him in exasperation.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Joonmyun had been last year’s pledge master. He'd told all of the pledges to come to him whenever they needed anything, and while most of the others had laughed the idea off, Zitao had taken him up on it many times. Joonmyun’s warm presence had been an immense comfort whenever Zitao had missed home, or was especially miserable when Kris had first started dating Jessica, or had just needed someone to talk to. Joonmyun being halfway across the country instead of on campus is one more way that this year is so different from last year, and not in any of the ways that Zitao had wanted it to be.

Given that he can't go to Wonshik about something like this, the next morning Zitao goes back to his room after his first class, crawls back into bed, and calls Joonmyun.

"Taozi," Joonmyun says happily when he answers. "How are you?"

Zitao thinks about it; about not knowing what to say to Wonshik and about what Baekhyun had said to _him_ ; about Kris being in New York and Joonmyun being in Texas, and about the look in Jackson's eyes whenever he mentions Mark. "Lonely," he admits at last, and the whole story tumbles out from there.

Joonmyun sighs at the end of it. "With Wonshik it sounds like you'll just need time," he says. "You think he’s interested in Hongbin, right? Wait and see if that works out."

Zitao nods, even though something about hearing that from someone else just doesn't sit as well with him as it should. "Maybe."

“With Baekhyun, he might not have meant it the way you thought he did. Maybe he meant Minseok’s mistake was not sleeping with him.”

“I guess,” Zitao says reluctantly. That had occurred to him after staring at his ceiling for a while last night. Thinking about it now, he bites his lip. “But… even if he didn’t, what if he should have?”

"He shouldn’t have," Joonmyun says firmly. "No one could ever think you were a mistake, Zitao. Don't ever worry about that."

Zitao’s still not entirely sure that’s true, but hearing it from Joonmyun eases his mind a little. “I miss you,” Zitao mumbles, toying with the edge of the sheet. “Can’t you get a job back here?”

Joonmyun laughs quietly. “That’s not how it works.”

“Then is there a good school there I can transfer to?”

“Sure, but if you do I’m bringing cowboy boots to the airport and making you wear them every day.”

“ _Joonmyun_ ,” Zitao says in horror, and Joonmyun laughs into the phone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Like pretty much every other student waiting for their lunch in the food court, Jackson takes out his phone and checks his messages. The newest one is from Bambam, so he quickly opens it. 

It’s a selca meant to look like Jackson’s current phone wallpaper, he can tell that immediately, but there are notable differences. 

The original picture is of them on the train during their ride home from Jackson’s last day of senior year, their arms around each other. Bambam’s head is tipped onto Jackson’s shoulder and he’s caught mid-laugh as Jackson’s lips are pursed in a mock kiss inches away from Bambam’s temple. Bambam had grabbed Jackson’s phone after they’d taken it and set the picture as his wallpaper, then made him swear not to change it. He’s such a dramatic kid, Jackson thinks fondly.

This picture is also of Bambam on the train, sitting alone this time, his arm up and curved as if around the shoulders of an invisible person. There’s an exaggerated pout on his face. _come back to st francis i miss u )))))):_ , is the accompanying message.

Jackson types a quick response: _graduate rn come to cartwright :*_

_:* :* :* :* <3333333333 can i be in kt_

_NO_. Jackson hits send and laughs again.

He looks up from his phone after reading his other texts, idly scanning the seating area while he continues to wait. He sees Zitao almost immediately, sitting at a small table by himself. His lunch tray looks like it’s barely been touched, and the way his brow is furrowed as he stares down at his phone has alarm bells going off in the back of Jackson’s mind.

Jackson's distracted from the sight when it's his turn to pay for his meal. By the time he’s done and heading Zitao’s way, Zitao has since pushed his phone aside, although he's toying with his food rather than eating it. He doesn't even notice Jackson approach, and jumps and looks up at him when Jackson rests a hand on his shoulder.

"You okay?" Jackson asks.

"Yeah, fine," Zitao says, though given that he follows it up with a heavy sigh Jackson's not convinced. "Just looking at pictures of Jackie." He turns the phone so that Jackson can see that it’s displaying a picture of Zitao with his handsome black cat cradled in his arms, Zitao looking fond and Jackie looking like he's plotting his escape.

"I still can't believe you named your cat Jackie Chan."

"I was in middle school when I got him," Zitao says defensively. "I wanted to be the next Jackie Chan."

"He is the best," Jackson has to admit. "How many other pictures do you have?" He’s never been able to just stand idly by when his friends are unhappy. If looking at a billion pictures of Zitao's cat is what it'll take to cheer him up, then that's what Jackson will do.

By the time they're finished lunch, Jackson hasn't quite seen a billion pictures of Jackie Chan Huang but he's definitely seen more than his fair share, and he's heard all the stories to go with them. But Zitao's eaten most of his food and the shadows are gone from his eyes. Progress, Jackson thinks proudly. 

Zitao pulls him into a hug before they get up. “I know what you were doing. Nobody ever lets me talk that much about Jackie."

"Their loss," Jackson says easily. "He's awesome."

He hums in acknowledgement. "Thanks. For everything.”

“What are friends for?” Jackson presses a kiss to his temple, and rubs his back reassuringly as Zitao burrows closer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jackson’s just heading back to his room after class the next day, minding his own business. He pulls the bedroom door open, hoping Mark will be there so they can go for dinner, and finds Zitao posed on his bed.

_Naked_ on his bed.

Jackson reflexively screams and slams the door shut again, staring at it in disbelief. Did he—is Zitao seriously—they just hooked up two days ago, so Jackson’s _probably_ not deprived enough to hallucinate him. True, he fantasizes about Zitao a lot, but not even he could dream up something that vivid. 

"Get it together, Jackson," he tells himself, punctuating the words with a quick slap. He finally opens the door again and goes inside this time, closing it quickly behind him. 

Zitao’s still on Jackson’s bed, and still naked, but now instead of posing like a porn star he’s laughing so hard he's clutching his stomach. “Your _face_ —” he begins, gasping for air.

“Oh my god!” Jackson yells, flinging himself onto Zitao. Zitao half-heartedly fights back for a few seconds, though he’s still laughing too hard to put any effort into it. Jackson pins him easily, straddling Zitao’s torso and pressing his wrists to the mattress. “What are you— _why_?”

“I thought you said guys don’t fluster you like girls do,” Zitao teases. 

“They don’t! This is different!”

“How?”

“You were all—naked, and hot, and—it’s too much, okay!”

Zitao shifts deliberately underneath him, lips curling up in a grin. His face is still red from laughter, and no matter how at ease he seems Jackson can feel his pulse racing. “I’m still naked and hot,” he reminds him. “I mean, unless you want me to leave. Or to wait for Mark.”

“Why are you _like_ this?” Jackson demands, but he’s already pulling off his own shirt, Zitao helpfully unfastening his pants now that his wrists are freed.

As soon as Jackson’s clothing is taken care of they're kissing furiously, one of Jackson's hands twined in Zitao's hair, the other gripping his shoulder. Zitao's hands have wandered further, both of them curved solidly around Jackson's ass so that he can control just how their cocks rub against each other.

They could get off like this, Jackson knows, but he wants something else more with every minute. He tears his mouth away from Zitao's, laughing brokenly when he leans up in an attempt to follow it. "Fuck me," he tells Zitao, barely recognizing his own voice.

Zitao stares up at him, pupils blown. “You—wait, really?”

“Yeah, really! Why else would I say it?”

He shakes his head a little. "Do you—we’d need more time, for prep, do you—”

"Not as much," Jackson admits. He lowers his head again to kiss Zitao's neck again, can't resist, sucking the pounding pulse point as he reaches under the pillow and fumbles around until he feels the lube he'd left there earlier. He pulls it free and holds it out to him. "I already, this morning—Mark wasn't here, I was thinking about you, _this_ —”

Zitao takes the lube, though he looks doubtful. "Are you sure you want me to top? I mean, most people... you don't want to fuck me again?"

The memories that offer calls up have Jackson's cock throbbing; judging from the smile that flickers on Zitao's face, he can feel it, too. "I do," Jackson says fervently, "but next time, okay?"

Zitao nods and Jackson's hand closes over his. 

Whatever insecurity Jackson had triggered has long since vanished by the time Zitao's two fingers in, his eyes focused and a small smile playing around his swollen lips. "So you did this earlier?" 

“Didn’t—have class, it got cancelled,” Jackson pants. “And we—suite—no one else needed—fuck, there there—”

The last thing Jackson sees before he has to squeeze his eyes shut, unable to handle looking at Zitao on top of everything else, is Zitao's mouth curving. “Say please,” Zitao drawls.

“ _Please_ quit fucking around and—” Jackson yelps as Zitao adds a third, the initial sting combined with the deliberate pressure to his prostate scrambling his senses. "Fuck, Tao!”

Jackson's grateful all over again for his unexpected free time this morning, since it means it doesn’t take long before Zitao rolls on a condom and presses inside him, his gorgeous mouth gone slack and his eyes heavy-lidded as he sinks in inch by inch. Jackson’s ready almost at once, hands scrambling against Zitao's taut arms as Zitao heeds his needy demands and _moves_. Jackson’s ankles are hooked around Zitao’s waist, Zitao’s hands planted on either side of his head, Zitao’s strokes steady and merciless as he fucks into him, and it’s everything Jackson’s wanted ever since this whole thing between them started.

Zitao abruptly leans up but doesn’t quite pull out, laughing breathlessly at Jackson’s startled protest. He just lifts Jackson’s legs until they’re over Zitao’s shoulders, setting off a faint sense of déjà vu that Jackson promptly forgets about when Zitao kisses him again, linking his hands with Jackson’s and bracing them over Jackson’s head. 

It’s not long before Jackson breaks away from his follow-up kiss to gasp “Oh my _god_ ,” right as Zitao’s cock hits the perfect angle.

Zitao shifts, just enough to make Jackson cry out. Zitao’s laugh is ragged. “There?”

“Fuck—yes, there—more, just—” 

“I don’t know, the other angle was good too…”

“Tao!”

Zitao laughs again and nips at his ear, but then he moves, every thrust harder and faster than the one before. Jackson’s vaguely aware he’s talking, cursing or sobbing or _something_ , but he doesn’t even know what he’s saying, all he knows is _more_ and _please_ and _Zitao_ —

And then, unbelievably, Jackson’s coming untouched, coating hot over his own abdomen and chest. “Pity orgasm,” Jackson croaks once his mind clears and he catches sight of Zitao's smirk.

Zitao’s laugh cuts off abruptly, as do his thrusts. “Fuck, fuck, _ow_ —”

“What’s wrong?”

Zitao grimaces, eyes squeezed shut. “Cramp, shit," he whines, and unceremoniously pulls out and topples onto his back, clutching the side of his thigh.

“Karma,” Jackson taunts, but sits up, willing away his usual post-sex lethargy. “Hold still, I’ll help.”

It takes a minute for him to coax Zitao to sit back up and help him settle in between Jackson's legs, Zitao resting back against his chest. Jackson wraps his free arm around his waist as his other hand takes over where Zitao had been gripping. 

Zitao's breathing eases as Jackson slowly but surely works out the tension, the affected muscle quieting under his fingertips. "I used to help my teammates with muscle cramps all the time," he explains, resting his chin on Zitao's shoulder. 

Zitao laughs weakly. "MVP."

"Yeah." Another distraction is needed, Jackson decides, and it only takes a few seconds for him to decide what to go with. He skims his free hand over Zitao's tense stomach, continuing down until he wraps it around his softened cock and strokes. Zitao hisses out a shuddering, appreciative breath. Encouraged, Jackson presses a quick kiss to the side of his neck and keeps going.

"How are you the one cramping up, anyway?" he teases after a few minutes. "I was the one with my legs up forever—”

“Fuck off,” Zitao grumbles, though when Jackson promptly lets go of his cock and starts to shift away Zitao grabs his wrist and yelps, “ _Not now_!” and Jackson nearly dies laughing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The standard issue beds at Cartwright are narrow enough that he's already heard more than a few people complaining about them, but Jackson doesn’t mind much. After all, he figures he'd cuddle close to someone no matter how big the bed they're sharing is. Luckily for him, it’s yet another thing he has in common with Zitao.

Jackson’s curled up against him, all but lulled to sleep as Zitao gently rubs his fingertips in circles against his scalp, when a sudden thought has him jerking up to meet Zitao’s startled gaze. “What if Mark comes back?”

“I texted him and asked if we could use the room,” Zitao says with a shrug.

“You—since when do you have Mark’s number?!”

He laughs that off, the same as always. “I still can’t believe earlier. Are you always this bad with surprises?”

“They’re not usually this—” Jackson waves a hand to indicate Zitao’s very long, very fit, very naked body, at a complete loss for words.

He grins. “I can still go if you want.”

“No,” Jackson says quickly. “I mean, since we have the room and everything.”

“ _Right_.” Then Zitao says, “Hey, want me to pay you back for earlier?"

“You don’t have to,” he says, then waits a beat before adding, "How?"

"I'm really good at giving massages." 

"Well, if you really want to..."

It means sacrificing the cuddling, but nothing is perfect. Jackson rolls onto his stomach, pillowing his head on his arms, and Zitao straddles his hips. Zitao must have picked up a few things from physical trainers, Jackson thinks absently, since he even starts out with warmups, though by the time he gets through those and starts rubbing Jackson's head with the pads of his fingers, the pace and pressure both perfect, Jackson's not thinking about much at all.

He sighs quietly, his eyes drifting shut. “Oh my god, that feels so good.”

Zitao laughs at him, but given that he's kneading his way down his back until he finds the next tension area to tackle Jackson can't get too offended. “I know.”

“I’m good at this— _god_ —too,” Jackson says, his words and thoughts slowing down as he unwinds more with every touch. “Took classes and everything. If you want, I can—”

“I’m already paying you back for earlier, remember? If we keep taking turns, we’ll be doing this forever.”

“Fine by me,” Jackson mumbles, and hums in contentment when Zitao presses a kiss between his shoulder blades.

By the time Zitao's done with him, Jackson's completely lost track of time; of everything but Zitao's touch and the fact that he's pretty sure he's become one with the mattress. 

“How was it?” Zitao asks.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jackson moans into the pillow. “You should do _that_ for a living.”

Zitao laughs. “Can you even move?”

He does his best to contemplate the question, then spreads his legs in response, grinning sleepily against his folded arms as Zitao bursts out laughing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Zitao had managed to avoid Baekhyun the day before, but when he returns to the dorm that evening it’s not long at all before he hears his door open and Baekhyun's cheery, "Where have you been?"

Zitao stares down at his half-written English paper, all the tension he’d shed thanks to hours with Jackson returning full force. "I'm busy."

Not that Baekhyun listens, of course. Instead Zitao can hear him walking toward him. “Are you still mad at me?” Baekhyun teases, and scoffs when Zitao resolutely keeps his back to him. “I didn’t even do anything!”

Which is the point by now; he hadn’t checked in to see if Zitao was all right, even though he clearly hadn’t been before. “I’m doing homework,” Zitao says sullenly.

“Who cares about homework? _Tao_.” Baekhyun wraps one arm around his neck, poking Zitao’s cheek with his free hand and ignoring how he tries to squirm away. “Why are you mad now?”

“Because you’re a dick!”

“You love my dick.” Zitao rolls his eyes, and Baekhyun pokes him again. “Just tell me!”

Zitao sighs. He knows from previous arguments that it’ll be impossible to actually get him to go away until he explains everything. “It’s what you said. Before.”

“…. Tao, I say a lot of things.”

“That’s your problem,” Zitao grouses.

“My gift,” Baekhyun corrects him. “Just tell me, what’s _wrong_?” He punctuates the question with a quick squeeze, resting his chin on Zitao’s shoulder.

Zitao deflates. While getting mad at Baekhyun is easy, staying mad is anything but. “You said Minseok made a mistake,” he says at last.

“Oh, that?” Baekhyun squeezes Zitao again. “So what?”

“So I’m not—being with me isn’t a mistake—”

“That’s not what I meant!” Baekhyun insists, pulling away from Zitao to give him a disbelieving stare. “You know I wouldn’t say that.”

Relief rushes through Zitao. He’d hoped that it was true, especially after talking with Joonmyun, but hadn’t quite let himself believe it until now. “It’s what it sounded like.” 

“Well then get your hearing fixed,” Baekhyun tells him. “Nobody would think sleeping with you’s a mistake.”

“Just going out with me would be, right?”

Baekhyun’s gaze sharpens, a stare Zitao can still sense long after he has to look away. “Hey,” he says sternly, “nobody would say that, either.”

Zitao swallows. “It’s not like lots of people are interested.”

“It’s _college_ , Tao. We’re here to hook up and have fun. You had fun with me, right? You’re having fun with Jackson?” Baekhyun’s eyes narrow with suspicion. “This isn’t about _Jackson_ , is it? Because you can do way better.”

“It’s not about Jackson,” he insists. Not the way Baekhyun means it, anyway. “I’m—I’m tired of just having fun.”

“You are way too young for this,” Baekhyun says, shaking his head, and sighs when Zitao looks at him indignantly. “ _But_ if you really want to start dating, even though being in Kappa Tau is pretty much like living a porno, I’m sure you’ll find somebody.”

“Maybe.”

“But the most important thing is, quit being mad at me! You always miss me too much, anyway.” Baekhyun presses a loud, smacking kiss to his cheek, laughing when Zitao goes to push him away.

He changes his mind and pulls Baekhyun toward him again at the last second, his own grin fading. “Hey, how often do you talk to Kris?” Baekhyun is Kris’s little, after all. He’s the one that introduced him and Zitao in the first place, and helped ensure that they became friends. If anyone might know what’s going on with Kris, it’s Baekhyun.

Sure enough, Baekhyun’s gaze darts away. “Not often,” he says evasively. “He’s busy, I’m busy—”

“ _Baekhyun_.”

“Why don’t you just talk to him?”

“I’ve tried! But he’s always busy, or tired, and he says he’ll call me later but he never does.” Zitao swallows, pressing a hand against his nervously twisting stomach. “Is he trying to get rid of me?”

“I can’t say anything. But he’s…” Baekhyun trails off, grimacing, and Zitao waits with bated breath for what he’ll say next. “He means well, but he’s being an idiot,” he says at last. “If you can get him to talk about it, you can fix it. For now don’t worry about it, okay?”

“How am I not supposed to worry about it?” 

Baekhyun cups his hand against Zitao’s cheek, tilting his face up so he can brush a light kiss against his mouth, one that’s more fond than anything. “I can distract you,” he offers.

Zitao snorts. “No you can’t. We agreed, remember?”

“You need to get your mind out of the gutter,” Baekhyun says disapprovingly, though he can’t quite suppress his smile when Zitao utters a disbelieving laugh. “I meant we can go spar. It’s been forever. Bet I can kick your ass again.”

“You’ve never kicked my ass at _anything_ ,” he retorts immediately, rising to his feet. 

The debate lasts the whole way to the campus gym. Between the easy, familiar bickering and Baekhyun’s warm hand in his, Zitao feels better already.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jackson tries to talk to his mom a few times every week, but Friday’s phone call is the first time since he started at Cartwright that he's caught her on one of her bad days. She's trying to sound fine so he won’t worry, he knows it and plays along as best he can, but he can hear the strain in her voice. By the end of the conversation his knuckles are white from how hard he’s gripping the phone. 

He’d all but forgotten that Mark is in the room until he approaches the bed and rubs the back of Jackson’s neck. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Jackson says, leaning against Mark’s side. “Just worried.”

“Your mom?”

“Yeah. Dad’s back in Hong Kong, my brother’s in Australia, she’s by herself—”

“Anything I can do?” Mark asks quietly.

Jackson shakes his head, then wraps his arms around Mark’s waist and presses his face to Mark’s stomach for a few seconds, squeezing, before he lets go and looks up at him. Mark smiles down at him reassuringly, stroking his hair. He got lucky, Jackson thinks, his whole chest warm. He couldn’t have asked for a better roommate.

“Hey,” he says impulsively as a thought occurs to him. “Want to come with me when I visit? I'm going next month.” The more he thinks about Mark getting to know his mother and staying in Jackson’s house, the more he likes the idea. After all, he’s not the only one who’s away from home, and if Mark can’t see his family then the least Jackson can do is share his own.

Mark’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yeah! You can meet Mom, and Bambam—have you been to New York before?” Mark shakes his head, and Jackson's smile widens. He loves showing people around New York. “We can take the train and hang out there.”

“That would be cool,” Mark says with a hesitant smile. “As long as your mom doesn’t mind.”

“She’d love it,” Jackson assures him. “She really wants to meet you.” And he really wants them to be able to meet, too. He’s sure they’ll get along great, and can’t wait to see it for himself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jackson’s on pledge duty when Zitao first gets to Friday’s open basement night, making sure there’s plenty of food and booze ready for everyone. It’s just as well, since Zitao’s sort of on duty, too, spending the first ten minutes or so serving as Baekhyun’s less-than-riveted audience as he contemplates the pledges.

“I think Jongin has the best ass this year,” Baekhyun announces at last.

“Haven’t you seen Jackson’s?” Zitao debates.

“Jackson’s isn’t that great.” Baekhyun sighs as Zitao raises his eyebrows at him. “Okay, fine, Jackson’s is great, but Jongin’s is still better. And I’ll be able to tell you all about it soon.”

“Isn’t he dating Taemin?”

“They want to have a threesome. Haven’t you heard Wonshik complaining about how he’s tired of hearing about it?”

Zitao frowns. “What? No.”

“Well get off Jackson’s dick long enough to ask Wonshik about it.” Baekhyun grins at him. “And I’ll get on Jongin’s long enough to tell you about it.”

“Like I’d even want to know,” he retorts automatically, but his mind’s whirling. Baekhyun had said that like it was something Wonshik talked about a lot, but Zitao hasn’t heard him say anything about it. Then again, he and Wonshik haven’t spoken much this week. 

He misses him, Zitao realizes suddenly. This year was supposed to bring them closer together, not push them apart.

Following impulse, he leaves Baekhyun to his pledge-watching and heads through the house until he finds Wonshik. He’s with a few other people, including Hongbin. 

Hongbin’s laughing at something Chanyeol just said, but he immediately switches his focus to Zitao as he approaches them. “Do you want me to get you—” Hongbin begins, and starts to stand, but Wonshik tugs his wrist and he stills. Wonshik’s always been easily affectionate with people he cares about, although judging by how Hongbin’s gaze momentarily darts down to his hand before returning to his face, he’s still not used to it yet. Zitao wonders how much time they’ve spent together this week, and tries not to wonder if Joonmyun’s prediction about them is true.

“It’s not your shift, remember?” Wonshik reminds him, not unkindly.

“I don’t mind,” Hongbin says.

“Just enjoy the break while you can.” Wonshik smiles at him. “Cleanup duty’s going to be enough.”

“You’re on cleanup duty?” Zitao makes a face, sinking onto the couch next to Wonshik. “Yeah, enjoy the fun while you can.”

“Remember last year, when we all had to clean up the 80s mixer?” Chanyeol chimes in.

There’s a chorus of groans. “Ugh, worst party ever,” Zitao says, not for the first time.

“I thought you were gonna be sick, too,” Chanyeol teases him.

“Wonshik took care of me,” Zitao says, smiling at Wonshik.

Wonshik smiles back, then turns to Hongbin, who’s listening in silence. “So the exterminator must not have—”

“Worst cleanup ever, is the point,” Zitao interrupts with a shudder. “But Wonshik cleaned the worst of it.”

“Our hero,” Chanyeol says, in a mock breathy tone that sounds especially ridiculous coming from him.

“You guys still owe me,” Wonshik says firmly, and Zitao laughs and hugs him.

Hongbin’s still watching them, his gaze thoughtful, which is when Zitao remembers that he has something to tell him. “I found your Instagram!” he announces.

“Creeper,” Wonshik teases.

“I was appreciating it out of brotherly solidarity,” Zitao returns with dignity.

Wonshik thinks about that for a few seconds. “Isn’t that what Baekhyun says about Jaehwan’s ass?” 

Zitao grins at him, then refocuses on Hongbin. “Anyway, Hongbin, you’re really good.”

“Really? I mean, I’m not sure about lighting sometimes, and with a lot of them I could have gotten a better angle—”

“You can work on all that,” Zitao says. “There’s a lot of potential. That’s the most important thing.”

Hongbin ducks his head, smiling. “Thanks.”

“You should see Zitao’s Instagram,” Wonshik tells him.

“All selcas,” Chanyeol chimes in.

Zitao rounds on him. “No it’s not! I take pictures of lots of things!”

“Okay, fine, mostly selcas,” Chanyeol amends.

“You didn’t really have many selcas on yours,” Wonshik says to Hongbin.

Hongbin shakes his head. “I’m still—I guess I’m still figuring out my angles, and everything.”

Wonshik looks surprised. “You have bad ones?” 

“Smooth,” Chanyeol says, laughing, as Hongbin outright blushes. 

Zitao laughs, too, though his heart’s not entirely in it. It’s… strange, seeing Wonshik paying this much attention to someone else. Think about it later, he tells himself, and takes another drink.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Zitao notices Jackson once in a while during the next hour or so, locking eyes with him from across the room. Zitao takes longer to look away every time it happens, pleased by how Jackson visibly has more and more trouble restraining himself from going over to Zitao. It’s so hard for him to hide anything he’s thinking or feeling, which is one of the things Zitao likes about him. 

Zitao finally decides enough is enough and makes his way over to him, pleased when Jackson immediately wraps his hand around his wrist and pulls him in. 

Even then they delay heading off somewhere together, doing a few shots with Amber and Donggeun and debating the merits of playing beer pong. Every time Zitao looks Jackson’s way, he finds him staring at his mouth. Subtle, he thinks with a grin, but decides to see how long Jackson can hold out now that they’re pressed against each other instead of separated by a roomful of people.

The game is brought to an abrupt end when Zitao deliberately lets his hand wander further up Jackson's thigh and Jackson breaks, dragging him in for a messy, alcohol-laced kiss that Zitao returns triumphantly, ignoring Donggeun and Amber’s laughter but happily heeding their suggestions to get a room.

Wonshik had mentioned to Zitao that he doesn’t have any plans for tomorrow, which usually means that he’ll still be downstairs for a few more hours. Zitao doesn’t think twice before leading Jackson up to his room, both of them stealing kisses and touches the whole way.

They have all night—or, well, a couple of hours—for this, but Zitao can’t resist backing Jackson against the door for a kiss even as he fumbles to get his room key out of his pocket. The whole getting into the room process would probably go smoother if Jackson would just let him do it—though maybe not by much, since Zitao’s coordination is kind of shot at this point—but instead he tightens his hold on Zitao and deepens the kiss, grinning against Zitao's mouth when he presses his free hand against the bulge already forming behind Zitao's zipper. Zitao whimpers, the newly freed key sliding against the doorknob.

"Focus," Jackson tells him.

"On what?" Zitao manages.

"I...." Whether Jackson even knows or not, Zitao doesn’t give him the chance to finish. Instead he presses against him and kisses him more fervently, crowding him back against the door as their hips rock against each other, everything an intense blur of _heat_ and _more_ and _Jackson_.

"Get a room!" someone—Moonkyu, Zitao realizes dimly—calls, and something about hearing it makes Jackson break away with a ragged laugh.

"Who's he talking to?" Zitao asks unsteadily, his eyes still fixed on Jackson's mouth. He dimly registers the imprint of metal against his skin, warm and slightly painful from how he’s been clutching it in his fist as Jackson kissed him to distraction. No one can beat Jackson for sheer enthusiasm, he thinks wryly. Not even Baekhyun, which is saying a lot.

"I...." Jackson looks down at Zitao’s hand, then shakes his head as if to clear it. "Oh. Us."

Zitao bursts out laughing, something about it just the funniest thing that's ever happened to him, and Jackson isn't far behind. 

Getting into the room is still an arduous task, but they make it eventually. Zitao kicks the door shut behind him before he lets Jackson drag him over to his bed to pick right back up where they left off, albeit horizontally this time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jackson wakes up from their impromptu nap a little while later, his head clearer. He nuzzles closer to Zitao—little spoon position is _his_ , a triumph he is thoroughly relishing—and laughs against his collarbone when he realizes he can't remember when Zitao took off his shirt. “You sounded like a cat.”

“I did not,” Zitao mumbles.

“You _yowled_.” Zitao pouts at him and Jackson yells with laughter. “You did!”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.” Jackson sits up with a groan. He's starting to wish he'd followed Zitao’s lead and taken off his shirt as well, not to mention his pants. As hot as earlier had been, the aftereffects aren't fun. “Fuck, sticky.”

“So get naked,” Zitao says drowsily. He’s already pulling his skintight jeans the rest of the way off, the denim soon a heap on the floor.

Jackson snorts. “Do you hate clothes or what?”

“I like clothes!” Zitao’s smile, Jackson decides, looks exactly like a cat’s. Well, not as much as Jongdae’s does. But still. “I like not wearing them, too.”

“I know.” He rolls his eyes. “We all know. I knew after like five minutes.”

Zitao lobs his pillow at him. “Shut _up_.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jackson's fully dressed again as he makes his way back downstairs, mostly sobered up and more than ready to get back to his own room. Zitao follows him—he’d wiggled back into his jeans, but had left his shirt on the floor as if to make up for it.

“You can stay if you want,” Zitao offers again as they skirt around where Jaebum is making out with one of the ZBZs on the stairs.

“Nah. Have to get back before Mark turns into a pumpkin. And I can’t shut Wonshik out of his own room.”

“I can ask him,” Zitao says, though not with much conviction. “He crashes with Taemin sometimes, anyway.”

Now it’s Jackson’s turn to snort and say, “ _Please_ ,” although he wraps one hand around the back of Zitao’s neck and pulls him down for a kiss to take the sting out of it.

When they break apart, Zitao smiles fondly at him. “You’re cute.” 

Jackson beams back, overly wide. “I know.”

“Not _you_ ,” Zitao says, shaking his head. “I meant you and Mark.”

“That still means me," Jackson points out triumphantly.

“But not you.”

“Whatever you say, Tao.”

Zitao groans, dropping his face into his palm. “I’m so done with you.”

“Not as done as I am with you,” Jackson debates.

“Weirdest foreplay ever,” Chanyeol says drowsily from where he’s flopped stomach-down on the couch, Kyungsoo fast asleep on his back.

“Nobody asked you, Chanyeol,” Zitao tells him, and Chanyeol shrugs and closes his eyes again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Once Zitao makes it back to bed he sleeps heavily, waking up late that morning with a clear head and dread in the pit of his stomach that flares up every time he thinks about the next time he'll see Wonshik. Jackson had stayed later than either of them had planned, and Zitao’s still not sure if Wonshik even came back to the room after he fell asleep, or where he was until then. 

But his next conversation with Wonshik doesn’t go anything like how he had worried it would. 

"You know, I was thinking," Wonshik tells Zitao on their way to the gym that afternoon. Zitao's grip on his gym bag strap tightens, but Wonshik's smile is easy as he elaborates, “We should probably think of a signal, like if one of us brings someone back to the room."

Startled, Zitao blurts out, “Like you and Hongbin?”

Wonshik's eyes widen a little. “Hongbin?”

“You’ve been—you hang out with him a lot.” Not only that, but a week ago Wonshik wouldn't have even been able to talk about Zitao sleeping with someone else, and now here he is suggesting that they use signals. Things are changing, fast, and Zitao's still not sure how to feel about it.

“Yeah, he needs a friend,” Wonshik explains. “He’s been having—” He trails off, his voice quieter as he adds, “I didn’t know you noticed.”

"I noticed," Zitao says. Wonshik studies him, brow creasing, and Zitao glances away. “What kind of signal?” he adds quickly, almost a match to how his heartbeat has suddenly picked up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Zitao's browsing for condoms when he hears his ringtone, almost startling him into dropping the bottle of shampoo Baekhyun had asked him to pick up for him. He scrambles to pull his phone out of his pocket, smiling when he sees _jflawless_ on the screen.

"What's up?" Jackson greets him when Zitao answers, as loud over the phone as he is in person.

“I’m at CVS,” Zitao says, grabbing a box off the shelf when he spots his preferred brand. “Condom run, I'm almost out. Do you need some?”

“I guess, yeah. I’ll pay you back.”

“Don't worry about it. So what size do you need?” 

“Magnums,” Jackson says promptly. 

Zitao bursts out laughing. Jackson has a great dick, but definitely not magnum level, which Zitao and his ass are both very thankful for. “You _don't_ —” he begins.

Which is when Mark rounds the corner, another guy in tow.

Jackson’s laugh is loud enough that Zitao has to hold the phone away from his ear. Mark can’t hear it, not from halfway down the aisle, but anybody would be able to tell that Zitao’s on a condom run and Mark would know who else it will benefit. 

Mark forces a smile when their eyes meet, but Zitao had seen how stricken he’d looked, just for a second. Zitao tries to imagine what it would be like if Jackson were here; if he had seen Mark’s reaction. It’s not hard to do. He knows who Jackson’s priority would be, and it wouldn’t be Zitao.

Zitao gives Mark a small wave and tries to look as natural as he can when he turns away, not sure what else to do. He's still half-listening to Jackson, so he grabs the brand he asks for and walks past Mark and his friend quickly, laughing awkwardly at the story Jackson’s telling about his most recent class and trading strained smiles with Mark. 

Thankfully, Mark's friend is distracting him, too. “You never know!” he’s saying.

“Yeah, but is he even into guys?” Mark asks him.

“I’m not just any guy,” he says loftily. “I mean it; he’s been staring at my ass…”

Zitao can’t help glancing back for a quick look before he rounds the corner. Definitely an ass worth staring at, he decides, and makes a mental note to find out who Mark’s friend is so that Zitao can tease Baekhyun about missing out on convincing him to pledge Kappa Tau.

Purchases made, he quickly heads out of the drugstore, stepping out into the late afternoon sunlight just as Hongbin emerges from the adjacent grocery store. 

Zitao automatically waves. Hongbin smiles back and waits as Zitao closes the distance between them. "Pledge errands?" Zitao asks.

"Yeah, I have to get some food," he explains, holding up one of the store bags he’s carrying as if to illustrate, then laughing a little and letting it fall to his side again. "Pledge thing at the house. What about you? I mean, not pledge errands, I know, but."

"Oh.” He smiles ruefully. “I'm getting things for tonight, too." 

"That's. Cool." Hongbin laughs again as soon as he says it, the sound more strained than ever, his shoulders hunching like he's trying to fold into himself.

Zitao's heart softens, remembering what Wonshik had said to him about Hongbin needing friends. College and Kappa Tau had been an adjustment for Zitao, too, but he’d had a bunch of people who’d helped him settle in right away. He wonders how many people Hongbin has. Kappa Tau’s full of good guys, but they can be a lot to get used to, especially for someone who seems as skittish as Hongbin. "So that's what you're doing today? Setting up?"

"For a while," Hongbin says. "And I still need to look through the pictures I took today."

Zitao impulsively asks, “Have you been to Calvin Park?” When Hongbin shakes his head, he continues, “It’s like ten minutes from here. It’s beautiful. There’s a picnic area, and a small playground, so a lot of families go, but there’s also a creek and lots of trees and plants—you’d get a lot of really good pictures.”

“Oh, it sounds nice.”

"I’ve been thinking about going soon, if you want to come with me," Zitao offers. "Like, next week?”

Hongbin smiles, sincerely this time, wide, warm, and dimpled. It’s no wonder Wonshik is so drawn to him. “Okay, that’s—that’d be nice, thanks,” he says. “I’d like that.”

Zitao smiles back. “Me, too.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Your birthday’s on Tuesday!” Jackson announces as soon as he returns to the dorm room.

Mark glances up from his laptop, his eyebrows raised. “You remember that?”

“Yeah! You’re my Mark! I’ve been making _plans_.” He drops down onto Mark’s bed, leaning against his side. “KT always wants to party, we can—”

“I have my own fraternity,” Mark reminds him.

Jackson pats his back. “Sure you do, Mark.”

“Come to the Omega Chi house on my birthday and I’ll prove it.”

Jackson, of course, has a will of steel. Nothing can break him….. except the way Mark folds his hands and pouts exaggeratedly at him, puppy eyes going full force, at which point said will crumbles into dust. “Okay, fine,” Jackson says reluctantly. Maybe it’s worth it just for how Mark beams at him in response. “Because it’s your birthday.”

“There’s even a pool, so it’ll be sort of like my birthdays at home,” Mark says, his smile slipping a little.

“That’s what you guys usually do? Pool parties?”

Mark nods. “It’s always still warm. Dad grills, and everyone comes over.” He pauses, his smile fading entirely. “It’s kinda weird. This is the first time I won’t be there on my birthday.”

“Do you want me to buy you a plane ticket?” Jackson offers, wrapping his arm around Mark.

Mark shakes his head. “Dad asked that, too, but I have class the next day.”

“That sucks.” Jackson always wishes he were closer to his parents, too, but at least he knows home’s only a train ride away, not on the other side of the country. He knows better than to say that out loud, and gives Mark a quick squeeze to make up for even thinking it. “At least there’s Omega Chi, right?”

“You’re admitting it’s real now?” Mark teases.

“I’ll pretend if it makes you feel better,” Jackson assures him, and Mark laughs quickly and hugs him. Jackson tips them both backwards so that they can cuddle for a while, as bros do, and promises himself that he’ll figure out a way to make sure Mark has the best birthday ever.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Zitao sprawls down on the couch next to Jackson that evening, draping his legs over Jackson's lap and settling in to watch him and the other pledges he’s playing Mario Kart with. “You’ll be at the house Tuesday night, right?” he asks Jackson.

“Can’t." Jackson yells in disbelief for a while when one of Jaebum's shells takes out his Yoshi, bumping Jackson two spots back, but he finally refocuses enough to elaborate, "It’s Mark’s birthday, so there’s this party at Omega Chi I said I’d go to.”

“You’re admitting it’s real?” Zitao teases.

“I’m not admitting anything! It's his birthday. I'm doing what he wants to do.”

"You _love_ him," Zitao coos.

Jackson scoffs. "Shut up, Tao."

“Don’t you not want him to realize he loves Mark?” Jongin points out.

“I don’t—” Jackson begins.

“Threesomes can be—” Zitao says at the same time, and bursts out laughing when Jackson tosses his controller aside and tackles him back against the cushions.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jackson grabs his phone out of his discarded shorts pocket, then opens the text he’d gotten from Mark’s mom earlier that day. He’d asked her about Mark’s favorite birthday foods, and she’d more than delivered. 

“Hey,” he says, nudging Zitao’s prone form with his foot. Zitao mumbles something indistinguishable into the pillow, so Jackson does it again, smug as can be at how long it takes Zitao to lift his head and look at him. Jackson can give as good as he gets, thank you very much. “I need to know where to order chang shou mian. For Mark’s birthday.” His mom always makes it for his dad's birthday, but of course she’s not here to help Jackson now, so he’ll have to settle. He figures finding it at a restaurant should be easy, since longevity noodles are a pretty traditional, and meaningful, birthday dish. There are probably plenty of people who would order it, right?

Zitao whines but finally props himself up on his elbows and takes Jackson’s phone, typing something in. Jackson rests his chin on Zitao’s shoulder, walking his fingertips along the ridges of his spine. 

“I think you’re gonna have to make it,” Zitao says at last, handing the phone back to him. “All the Chinese restaurants I know of around here are pretty much fast food, and I did a search but it just pulled up recipes.”

Jackson groans. “But like everyone at Cartwright is Asian!”

“Most of the townies aren’t, and they have more money.” Zitao drops back down onto his pillow, his voice muffled as he keeps talking. “You can get ingredients at the Asian market, and cook here. JB cleaned the kitchen the other day.”

Given that Jackson had to clean the house’s bathrooms last week, he doesn’t especially pity Jaebum. “Won’t someone else need to cook something?”

“Nah, we don’t use the stove a whole lot.” Zitao turns his head and glances at him. “Wait, can you cook?”

“Maybe,” Jackson says doubtfully. He’s spent a lot of time in the kitchen while his mother cooked on her good days, mostly to get things out of the cabinets and fridge for her and to keep her company. He doesn’t really fix food much on his own. 

Then he remembers how quiet Mark had been when he’d talked about this being his first birthday away from home, and it steels his resolve. If Jackson cooking is what it’ll take for Mark to get his favorite birthday meal, then so be it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Zitao waits until Jackson leaves, then grabs his phone and calls Kris. He should be back from visiting Jessica by now, and Baekhyun’s words are still echoing in Zitao’s mind. If whatever’s going on with Kris is something he can do something about, then he’s going to do it now.

Kris answers after a few rings, just enough of a wait that Zitao wonders if he’ll let it go to voice mail again. “Hey.”

“Why are you avoiding me?” he asks without preamble.

Kris sighs. “Tao—”

“We hardly talk anymore, and any time I try you barely say two words to me. Something’s wrong.” Zitao’s never had trouble talking to Kris—well, not since Kris had complimented Zitao on the shirt he wore to his first Kappa Tau party, at least. Their ensuing conversation about fashion had been enough for Zitao to overcome the tongue-tied stage of his crush, and they’d quickly become friends from there. “Did I do something?”

“No, it’s not like that,” Kris reassures him quickly. “I’m not mad at you.”

“So what’s going on? Just _tell_ me.”

There’s a pause. “I’m trying to help you.”

“Help me how, by making me super paranoid?”

“I don’t want…” Kris hesitates. “After last year, the way you were with me….”

Zitao’s eyes widen. “You mean my crush on you?” They’ve never talked about it, but Zitao can’t imagine what else Kris could mean. He’s always figured Kris knew how he felt, since hiding his emotions has never been his strong point. He’s pretty sure everyone on the East Coast could’ve spotted his crush on Kris. 

“Yeah. You should—you should be with someone who wants you back. I want you to find him, you know? I don’t want to distract you anymore. So I just. I don’t know. I figured I’d give you space.”

Zitao’s jaw has long since dropped by the time Kris stammers to a finish. He drops his head into his free hand. Kris means well, he can hear it in every word, but _god_. “That was last year! I’m over it.”

“Really?”

Zitao rolls his eyes. “You’re not _that_ hot.”

Kris’s laugh is still quiet, but it’s genuine this time. Progress, Zitao thinks. “Liar.”

“Shut up,” Zitao says with a quick laugh. “Look. I had a crush on you, and it was stupid and I _got over it_. What’d help me would be us going back to normal. Okay?”

“Okay,” he says softly. “I’m sorry.”

Something in Zitao’s chest eases, and his whole body unwinds along with it. “It’s okay.” He lies back against his pillow, absently noting that he can still smell a trace of Jackson’s cologne on the pillowcase. “So. You and Jessica are good?”

“Yeah, we are.”

“Good,” he says, and laughs to think of how he would’ve been lying through his teeth had he said that last year.

“What about—are you and Baekhyun still—”

“No,” Zitao interrupts. “No way.”

Kris makes a quiet sound of acknowledgement. “Are you seeing anybody else?”

Zitao thinks of Jackson just a little while ago, trying to plan birthday surprises for Mark; and then, strangely, of Wonshik complimenting Hongbin, and how Hongbin had blushed under his attentions. “No.”

“Well, you’ll. You’ll find someone.”

“I know,” Zitao says airily, and as he’d hoped it makes Kris laugh.

 

 

 

 

 

 

As Zitao had suggested, Jackson goes to buy the ingredients he needs for the longevity noodles recipe the next day. Youngji comes along for the ride, since she’s supposed to help cook dinner for ZBZ.

“Hey, what do you know about cooking?” Jackson asks her as they start down the first aisle.

“Don’t even try it,” she immediately says.

“Try what?”

“I’m not going to cook for you.”

“Who says I want you to cook for me?” he demands. “I just meant do you have any, like, advice!”

“Oh, that’s all?” she asks doubtfully.

“That’s all!” he insists, then waits a beat. “I mean, if you want to supervise—”

She scoffs, pushing at his shoulder. “If you can’t cook, why don’t you order it from somewhere?” she points out after a minute of bickering.

“Can’t,” he says glumly. “I asked Tao yesterday, and he said they don’t sell this at any of the restaurants around here.”

“You could get him seaweed soup, like we do,” Youngji points out. “They sell some here, even—”

“But Mark’s mom says he likes having chang shou mian on his birthday,” Jackson says, frowning down at the list of ingredients on his phone. “I can make it. Probably.”

“You didn’t make _me_ anything for my birthday,” she teases. “Some husband.”

“I bought you ice cream!” he reminds her.

“That’s not the same!”

“It’s what you said you wanted!”

“You didn’t _make_ the ice cream—”

“How am I supposed to make ice cream? No, actually, that would be cool. We should figure out how to do that.”

“If you want to. Oh, hold on!” Youngji stops them so that she can choose between seaweed sheets, Jackson doing his best to convince her to give him any leftover kimbap while she does so. In the end she puts the ones she’s selected in the cart, then hops up to stand on the back like a little kid, both of them laughing as Jackson pushes it to the end of the empty aisle at a run.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jackson sweeps everything on the nearest Kappa Tau kitchen counter to the side, then unloads his groceries onto it. He stares at everything once it’s all laid out, crossing his arms over his chest. He can do this. He has directions. It’s just soup. And hardboiled eggs. And noodles, tomorrow. Lots of people cook without burning their frat houses down. How hard can it be?

“Someone’s actually _cooking_ in here?” Baekhyun asks from the doorway.

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. “Where did you think the sausages you stole this morning came from?”

“I’ve stopped wondering about KT sausages, I just enjoy them,” Baekhyun says with a leer, yelping when Kyungsoo elbows him.

Meanwhile, Yixing circles around the island to Jackson’s side. “What are you making?” he asks in Mandarin. His English isn’t quite as fluid as the rest of the Chinese students Jackson has met so far, and he always seems a little relieved to be able to use Mandarin with another native speaker.

Jackson is nothing if not accommodating. “Chang shou mian,” he explains. “For Mark’s birthday. His mom says it’s his favorite thing to eat.”

“I didn’t know you could cook.”

“I can,” Jackson insists, and then pauses. “Probably.”

“Let me see,” Yixing offers. Jackson passes the phone to him, and he skims the recipe, occasionally mouthing words to himself. “You should be able to make it. Do you want some help?”

“Sure,” Jackson agrees quickly. “But I’ll do most of it. You can just supervise.”

“Okay.”

Jackson, for the record, does a _lot_ as Yixing cooks. He hunts down the cooking equipment Yixing needs, and wards off everyone who comes around trying to beg for a taste.

“Don’t even try it,” he warns Zitao when he inevitably wanders through, eyes bright with curiosity. Jackson shifts into perfect on-guard position, pointing his serving spoon warningly at Zitao when his eyes skim appreciatively along the lines of Jackson’s body. “And don’t try to distract me, either!”

“I’m not allowed to look?” Zitao asks. Despite the whine in his voice, he keeps the seduction mode switched firmly on as he drapes himself across the island, his dark eyes glittering up at Jackson with exaggerated interest.

He rolls his eyes, poking his shoulder with the spoon. “I’m not _that_ easy. This is for Mark for tomorrow.”

“You don’t want to feed me?” he asks, slowly trailing his tongue along his lower lip, only to full-on pout when Jackson just scoffs and pokes him again.

“You’ll have to make the noodles right before you give it to Mark,” Yixing reminds Jackson once they’re done, the soup safely packaged and cradled in Jackson’s arms, to be stored in his mini fridge until the next day.

“I know,” Jackson assures him. “Thanks.”

“Can you handle that yourself?”

“Yeah, no problem!” There’s a pause. “I mean, if you really want to help—”

“What time should I come over?” Yixing asks with a rueful smile, and Jackson grins and hugs him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jackson keeps a close eye on the clock as Monday night passes by, and all but catapults himself onto Mark’s bed as soon as it’s midnight. “Happy birthday!” he announces, clinging to him.

Mark hugs him back, his startled laugh sounding right in Jackson’s ear. “Thanks.”

They only get a few more seconds before Mark’s phone rings, and he’s still smiling as he answers. “Hey Dad!”

Jackson can dimly hear Mr. Tuan’s voice and debates moving to give them privacy, but when he tries to pull away Mark tightens his grip on him. Jackson ends up staying right where he is, his eyes gradually lulled shut by the sound of Mark’s voice and the steady rhythm of Mark’s heartbeat beneath his ear. All the roommates he could’ve had, he thinks distantly, and is glad all over again that he ended up with Mark.

 

 

 

 

 

 

On Tuesdays they usually meet for lunch after Mark gets out of class, so Jackson knows just when to burst into the food court and take the seat next to him, pulling Mark's plate of pizza slices away before he can take a bite.

“I’ll eat that,” Jackson says, pushing the plastic bag he’s carrying at Mark. “I already got your lunch.”

He pulls out the container inside and opens it, his dubious expression turning to wonder when he sees its contents. “Longevity noodles?”

“I asked your mom what you like to eat on your birthday, so she sent me the recipe,” Jackson says. He’s barely able to sit still, he’s so excited. “Try it!”

“I haven’t even had this since, like, middle school,” Mark says instead of digging right in, his eyes huge as he stares at Jackson. 

“Seriously?” he says in sudden panic, wondering if he’s misstepped somewhere. “But she said—”

“Dad always grills, but this is—you _made_ this for me?”

Jackson startles when Yixing chooses that moment to clear his throat, all at once remembering that he and Mark aren’t the only ones at the table. “Well… Yixing helped, but…”

“Did he actually do anything?” Jaebum asks Yixing.

Yixing smiles beatifically. “Jackson kept me company.”

Jackson scowls as everyone else laughs. “See if I do anything for your birthdays,” he grumbles, and Mark laughs even harder, but he cuddles Jackson until he stops pouting and pulls away to feed Mark his first bite.

“It still counts,” Jackson insists yet again on their way back to the dorm. “I had to fight off _so many people_! Seriously! Never cook at KT.”

Mark grins, taking his hand and twining his fingers with Jackson’s. “I still can’t believe you did that.”

“I think of these things, you know!”

“Thank you,” Mark says, squeezing Jackson’s hand.

And in the face of his smile, everything’s worth it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jackson’s truest act of friendship, of course, is accompanying Mark to where he insists is the Omega Chi house… which turns out to not only be real, but to be far and away the biggest building on Greek Row. Jackson had always assumed it was some sort of weirdly located administrative office or something. After all, what kind of _frat house_ has a decorative fountain and landscaping that looks like something out of a magazine?

“I told you it was real,” Mark says smugly as they stop on the edge of the property, giving Jackson the chance to take it all in.

He keeps right on gaping. “ _Oh my god_!”

Mark laughs, tightening his arm around Jackson’s shoulders. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

Jackson ends up saying “Oh my _god_ ” a lot as the tour unfolds. At the hot tub and sauna. And the indoor and outdoor pools. And the wine cellar.

“Did you drug my dinner?” he demands as he tries and fails to take in how extensive their indoor gym is, and Mark keeps right on laughing. “There’s no way this place is real!”

Apparently he’s the last person to check out Omega Chi. It seems like everyone’s here tonight. “Traitor!” he accuses when his path crosses Youngji’s.

“Haven't you tried the food?” she points out. 

When Jackson takes his first bite of the professionally catered meal (“Seriously, what the hell?” he demands yet again when he gets his first look at the elaborate spread), he has to admit he'll give her that one.

He and Mark take their plates of food with them as they continue to wander around for the rest of the tour. “What’s that?” Jackson asks, pointing at another door.

“Coat closet," Mark explains. He knocks, then waits a beat before he eases the door open. Even the coat closet is like half the size of their dorm room, containing more hangers than Jackson's ever seen outside of a department store and a fancy lounge to sit on.

“How many coats do you guys _have_?”

Mark laughs awkwardly. “I think people mostly use it for, like, hooking up.”

Well, that would explain why there’s a speaker in the closet, the music from the party filtering into the room. And the mood lighting. "Wait, have you?" Jackson asks him abruptly.

“Have I what?”

“Used it to hook up.”

"Me?" Mark startles. "No."

_Good_ , Jackson doesn't say. The fact that he wants to so strongly makes him frown. "I need a drink," he says instead. "Do you guys have anything other than wine?"

Mark's smile comes back in full force. "Yeah, I saved the best part for last," he says, and when he takes Jackson's hand again to pull him along Jackson easily links their fingers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Even though Jackson had suggested that Zitao join them at Omega Chi, he stays in for the night instead, scrolling through Instagram and ignoring his looming English essay deadline. He loves Kappa Tau, but it can be exhausting, especially now that he’s living in the house. He needs a night to himself. Besides, he knows Jackson must be focused on Mark right now. Zitao would just be in the way.

He startles as Wonshik lets himself into their room. Wonshik looks surprised to see him, too. “You’re not with Jackson?”

“No, he’s at the Omega Chi party.” Zitao smiles a little as another picture of Jackson and Mark pops up on Instagram. “He doesn’t even know I exist.” 

He holds his phone out to Wonshik, who walks over to take a look, laughing. “Those two.”

“Yeah," Zitao says quietly, then sets the phone down and forces a smile. "What about you? Plans with Hongbin?”

“No, he’s with a few other pledges. Making more friends. It’s good.” Wonshik hesitates, resting his hand on Zitao's back. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm..." Zitao swallows. He should be okay; he and Kris are back to normal, and he and Wonshik are okay. But something about all these pictures of Mark and Jackson together is just bothering him more than ever. They _fit_ , even if they don’t realize it themselves yet; Zitao wants to find that, too. "I don't know."

Wonshik sits down next to him, wrapping his arm around Zitao's shoulders, and Zitao sighs quietly and leans against him. "I know you like Jackson—”

"No, that's not it!" Zitao protests immediately. "It's not just him, or them, or..."

"Then what is it?" Wonshik asks. "I'm here. You can talk to me."

As a general rule, Zitao never talks to Wonshik about anything like this, even though he’s one of his best sounding boards when it comes to pretty much anything else. It never feels fair, given how Wonshik feels about him. But after the last few weeks, he can't keep it all in anymore. “I kissed Joonmyun once,” Zitao confesses, and hears Wonshik’s quiet, startled breath. “During spring break. And he didn’t—he said he already had plans to leave, that us doing anything else, or trying to start something then, would make it harder for both of us.”

“What did you say?”

Zitao shrugs. “He was right. I just—Joonmyun has a job, Baekhyun doesn’t want to date anyone, Minseok and Woohyun didn’t want _me_ , Jackson wants Mark, even you… even you don’t…”

“What are you talking about?”

Zitao's gaze drops, staring down at his lap. “You’re always with Hongbin now—”

“Seriously, Hongbin and I are just friends,” Wonshik interrupts, his tone disbelieving. “And I can’t wait around for—”

“I know, but—” Zitao sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m sorry if I… no, I _know_ I took you for granted. I shouldn’t have. I’m so sorry.”

Wonshik’s arm tightens around his shoulders, but Zitao doesn’t quite dare to check for his reaction. After a moment Wonshik leans in, angling into his field of vision until Zitao has to look at him. “You’re the most important person to me,” he promises quietly, his smile reassuring. “Okay?”

Zitao’s heart races as he looks at him—his soft, dark eyes, the features Zitao knows so well by now—and wonders if it’s that simple. Wonshik’s kind, and hot, and easy to be with. Wonshik loves him, and Zitao can’t even remember anymore why he was so certain that he would never see him as anything but a friend. 

Impulsively, he presses a quick kiss to Wonshik’s lips, then pulls away. They’re soft, too, he thinks as Wonshik inhales sharply, not taking his eyes off them until he’s kissing Wonshik again, long and slow this time, melting into him when Wonshik wraps his arms around him, and gasping in turn when he coaxes Wonshik’s mouth open, the kiss quickly spiraling past where he’d intended.

When they break apart, Wonshik looks dazzled, but there’s wariness underneath it. “I don’t want this to be—if you just want to hook up, I can’t…” He licks his lips, and Zitao watches, enthralled. Why hadn’t he kissed Wonshik before? Why had he never wanted to even try? “I’m—I can’t just do this once, Tao, if that’s all you—”

“It’s not,” Zitao interrupts him.

Wonshik’s expression eases, but he still presses on, “Or if this is because of Jackson or Kris or anyone—”

“It’s _not_ ,” Zitao says again, and Wonshik falls silent, his dark eyes so hopeful. It’s a horrible kind of power Zitao holds in this moment, and he makes what feels like the right decision to him. Zitao’s not in love with him right now, but Wonshik means so much to him, and he loves Zitao so much. Maybe instead of expecting the fairy tale, the instant connection and all-consuming feelings, Zitao just needs to give something steady and quiet a chance. How could he not eventually fall in love with Wonshik? “I want you. I promise.”

“Are you _sure_?” Wonshik asks him.

Zitao’s heart swells. How can this not be the right decision? “I’m sure,” he promises, wrapping one hand around the back of Wonshik’s neck and pulling him in for more.

Everything goes as expected for a while, the kisses gradually getting hotter and more intense. Zitao lies down, pulling Wonshik on top of him. He goes along with him enthusiastically, but pulls away when Zitao starts to tug the waistband of his sweatpants down.

Zitao immediately jerks his hands back, staring wide-eyed up at Wonshik. “You don’t want to?”

His laugh is strained. “No, I do,” he promises. “Just, maybe not right now, okay? I liked what we were doing.”

“I did, too,” Zitao says uncertainly. He’s never been rejected before—he and Joonmyun didn’t go further than kissing, but that night was different on a lot of levels, so he doesn’t count it. Wonshik’s had feelings for him for a year and he’s said he wants to be with Zitao, but if he doesn’t want to sleep with him….

Wonshik shifts off him, lying down on his side, then drapes his arm over Zitao and gives him a light kiss. “We don’t have to be in a rush,” he tells him. “This isn’t just a one-time thing, remember? We have time.”

Zitao nods, cupping his hand against his cheek, the apprehension in his gut easing. “Too tired?” he teases, giving him a small smile.

“I had a morning class,” he immediately protests. “It’s not my fault.” Zitao giggles quietly, and Wonshik smiles at him, eyes warming, before leaning back in to claim another kiss.

As Zitao had predicted, Wonshik dozes off before too long, his mouth gradually slowing against Zitao’s until it goes entirely slack. He’ll probably be like this after sex, too, Zitao thinks fondly as he strokes Wonshik’s hair. A memory of doing the same thing to Jackson strikes him, and Zitao muffles a sudden laugh against Wonshik’s shoulder. Jackson’s going to have a lot to say when he hears about this. Everyone will.

“What?” Wonshik mumbles, stirring.

“Nothing,” he whispers back, kissing his temple. “Go to sleep.”

“Mmmm.” Wonshik’s arms tighten around him and his eyes flicker open. “You’ll stay?”

It’s strange not to be the one asking that question. He doesn’t have to brace himself anymore, Zitao realizes with some surprise. With Wonshik he doesn’t have to worry about getting too attached, or wonder when he’ll call it all off. He’s staying. Zitao hadn’t realized just how much that security would mean to him until he had it. 

“I promise,” he says, nestling closer to him. Wonshik smiles, a little shyly, and gives him another quick peck before his eyes close again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kappa Tau is hands-down the best frat on campus, obviously, but Jackson can give credit where credit is due—Omega Chi has great booze, there are plenty of hot people to talk to and dance with, and their furniture is really comfortable despite looking too fancy to sit on.

See also: the wingback chair he and Mark end up in, Jackson on Mark’s lap, shot glass in his hand. “Birthday boy!” he crows, and Mark grins up at him.

Mark’s flushed all over. Jackson can tell because he ditched his polo shirt a few rooms ago and is now just in his tank top, so Jackson can see where the trail of red leads under its low neckline. Not that he can see more than that. Or like his mouth’s watering a little at the thought. But he can guess. And it’s so cute. _Mark’s_ so cute.

“The _cutest_ ,” he proclaims aloud, and kisses Mark’s cheek. And then his shoulder, too, just because it’s there and because him doing that makes Mark laugh. Laughing is good. He wants Mark to be happy on his birthday.

Another Omega Chi pats Jackson on the back as he walks by. "Take good care of our boy," he tells Jackson.

“I’ve _been_ taking care of Mark,” he insists. “All day. All the time.”

Mark bursts into shrill laughter, and the sound of it makes Jackson laugh, too, pressing his face against Mark’s collarbone.

“Shots for the birthday boy!” he remembers then, straightening back up and insistently pressing the shot glass to Mark’s mouth. He holds it there as Mark drinks it down, Jackson’s eyes on his throat as he swallows. Because he’s a good roommate and wants to make sure he doesn’t choke. Obviously.

He laughs loudly when Mark’s done and sets the glass aside—or maybe drops it, he’s not really paying attention—and kisses his other cheek, pleased when Mark gets even redder. “Happy birthday,” Jackson tells him for what has to be the thousandth time, but why shouldn’t he? Mark’s his roommate. Mark’s the _best_ roommate. He _should_ have a happy birthday.

Suddenly and overwhelmingly fond, Jackson hugs him, leaning in close and nuzzling his neck. “Mark, Mark, Mark,” he mumbles. He hears Mark’s high-pitched laugh right by his ear, but he’s hugging him back tightly and that’s what counts. "Hey, Mark."

"What?"

“You glad I’m your roommate yet?”

Mark blinks his eyes open. “’m always glad.”

“ _Dude_ ,” he says happily, kissing his cheek again—and his other cheek for good measure, because Jackson believes in doing things thoroughly—and then nestling close to him. He’s pretty sure it should be Mark’s birthday every day of the year.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Most of the rest of the night is a blur, but the morning after, not so much. Jackson wakes up slowly, warm and nauseous, his head pounding. Memories from the party trickle in, which explains the hangover—Omega Chi’s indoor bowling alley _had_ to have been a drunken hallucination, right?—but the warmth isn’t explained until he slowly opens his eyes and realizes he’s on the wrong side of the room. He’s not in his own bed, he’s in Mark’s. Mark, meanwhile, is still asleep, his breathing deep and even and his thin frame relaxed under his arm.

Jackson decides not to wake him. He’ll probably be in worse shape than Jackson; he can’t imagine that Mark has a higher alcohol tolerance than he does, and he’s sure Mark drank more than he did last night. Sleeping more sounds like a good idea in general, he decides, dismissing the thought of his morning class. He closes his eyes again, pressing closer to him.

The next time he wakes up it's for good. The last of the alcohol has worn off, leaving him with nothing but his hangover and a dim sense that something's off.

When he realizes again that he's in Mark's bed, alone this time, he's not half as calm. His pants are on and he’s not sticky and he doesn't feel like he does on mornings after he's hooked up with anyone, so he figures that they must've just stumbled into the same bed when they got home. Definitely the most logical explanation. What else could have happened, after all?

When Mark enters the room Jackson tries to sit up, then quickly regrets it. "Hey," he manages to say.

"Hey," he says easily, crossing over to him, a Styrofoam container in his hands. "I got you some breakfast—or lunch, I guess. The greasiest food they had."

Jackson blinks. "What about you?"

“I don’t really get hungover,” he says with a shrug. “Metabolism, I guess.” Jackson groans, and Mark gently pats his head. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you this time.”

“Friendship,” he croaks, and Mark laughs quietly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The hangover wears off, but pictures are forever: which, apparently, is how long it’s going to take Jackson to convince everyone who follows him on Instagram that no matter how many pictures people posted of him and Mark at Omega Chi last night, Mark’s _not_ his boyfriend.

_dont worry i no ur not with him!!!!_ Bambam texts him after the third time Jackson has to explain things to someone, because apparently Bambam’s the only person he knows who understands friendship. 

_thnx bambam :*_ Jackson texts back promptly, then adds _ur a good son!!!!_ a few seconds later.

“Do you know how many people have asked me if Mark and I are together?” Jackson vents to Zitao as they eat dinner together that night. “I don’t get it! Why would anyone even think that?”

“No idea,” he says dryly.

Jackson narrows his eyes. “You don’t sound very supportive," he says suspiciously, and Zitao just gives him a beatific smile in return.

But it's not until they're on their way out of the food court that Jackson gets the most interesting news of all. 

“You doing anything tonight?” he asks Zitao hopefully. It's been a few days since they last hooked up, after all. After the last few weeks, his body's been trained to feel deprived at this point.

To his surprise, Zitao hesitates. “I have a date,” he says. “With Wonshik.”

“Wait, seriously?” It takes a few seconds to switch gears, but once he does he beams at Zitao. “That’s awesome!”

Zitao smiles back. “Yeah.”

“He seems great.” Jackson slings his arm around his waist. “I mean, I know you’ll miss hooking up with me, but we can still be friends—”

“ _Please_ ,” Zitao says, rolling his eyes as Jackson laughs, though he leans into him easily. “You’ll miss me more.”

“Oh _whatever_ —”

“You will! But it’s okay. Now you won’t have anything to distract you from asking Mark out.”

Bambam really is the only person he knows who understands friendship, Jackson thinks in despair. “ _Why_ —”

“And even though we won’t be able to have that threesome—”

“ _Huang Zitao_!” Jackson drags him into a headlock, Zitao giggling madly as he attempts to squirm free.


End file.
